


Fallen Angel

by DragonTail



Series: Transformers: RID [6]
Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonTail/pseuds/DragonTail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surrounded by devastation, cut off from his team and side-by-side with a traitor, Ultra Magnus faces the greatest challenge of his life. Flame Convoy, the mad "god" of Animatros, has come to Earth - and genocide is his goal! Can the Autobots' greatest warrior possibly hold his own against one of the original 13 Transformers? Do the strange newcomers called Repugnus and Apelinq bring with them salvation or ruin? All this plus the highly-demanded (at least by him) return of Sideways!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Simon Furman, Geoff Senior, Jeff Anderson, Dan Reed, Will Simpson, Tim Perkins, Stephen Baskerville, Dave Harwood, Steve White, Annie Halfacree, Richard Starkings, Mike Scott and Ian Rimmer.

“Someone _please_ tell me this is a joke.”

No one responds. I’m not all that surprised, really. El Pasoz is known for a lot of things… greasy oil, poor service, lousy exchange rate, high number of nasty “I coulda bin a contendah” types… but not for being a haven of erudite conversation.

That’s okay. I _like_ to talk.

“Anyone see who put this up?” I ask, jerking my thumb at the holo-poster. “I mean, are they still around? Can I talk to them?”

Utter silence once again. Oh well. I give up and wander over to the bar. The serving mech is of a type I’ve not seen before – reed-thin, with eyes mounted on little horizontal stalks – and he regards me warily. He might be an unknown, but the look on his face plate is all too familiar.

“You actually _want_ a drink?” he asks, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He mutters something inaudible and wipes at the bar with an already oily rag. “What’ll you have?”

I point to a random bottle behind the bar, not caring how much it’s going to cost. Whatever lands in the pitcher in front of me will do. The last thing a guy like me is, is fussy about oil. That sort of pickiness is best left for others. There’s only two things in this universe that interest me, and I’m dead keen on getting one of them before I leave this two-bit flea pit.

“So,” I begin, one hand sliding some credits over the bar as the other wraps round the pitcher, “you run this place?”

“Uh huh,” comes the curt reply. The bar mech’s already back to his wiping.

“Work all the time?”

“If we’re open, I’m here,” he sighs. Obviously one of those unhappy small business owners.

“Which means you’d know who put that holo-poster on your wall, right?”

He stops wiping and straightens up. His eye stalks extend a little – I guess that’s his version of a cold, hard stare. “You ask an awful lot of questions,” he drawls.

“You don’t give a whole heck of a lot of answers,” I quip. “Come on, friend. Someone’s put a poster on your wall seeking a service. That means they’d _want_ to be found, _want_ mechs to get in touch with them. Am I right?”

The bar mech keeps on staring.

“Okay, so you’ve got a reputation for keeping your mouth shut and looking after your patrons,” I sigh wearily. “But the being who went to all the trouble of making that holo-poster is trying to _advertise._ You’re actually doing them a disservice by turning off your synthesiser, you know.”

A large shadow falls over me. The house lights have been well and truly blotted out. I turn around and look up… and up, and _up_ … at my new friend. Now I’m no shrimp, but this guy stands a good twenty, maybe thirty feet taller than me. No mean feat for an organic life form, let me tell you. I’ve met members of my own kind who would call this guy “sir” rather than tick him off, based on size alone.

Big boy’s swollen mass is covered in a neon yellow, chitinous substance. Bits of mottled green and brown poke out from under the insect-like armour. His head is green and vaguely mechanical – enhancements, I’m thinking, not a natural technorganic – with tusks jutting out from the corners of his mouth. And, as is standard for yokels like this, his eyes are _really really_ dim and beady. Ten bucks says his name is Cletus.

“This guy botherin’ you, Hank?” he growls. I’m thinking Hank is the bar mech.

“Come to think of it, Jojo, he is,” Hank the newly-christened bar mech replies. “I’ll give you a free round if you get him out of my face plate.”

 _Jojo._ Damn. That was my second guess.

He-who-is-not-Cletus grabs me roughly around the neck. With one hand, no less. Told you he was a big boy. I’m lifted off the floor – which isn’t a bad thing, exactly, given how dirty the place is – and carried toward the door. My broad feet dangle in mid-air and I go limp, letting myself be taken. There’s really no point, at this juncture, extricating myself from the situation. Nope, not right now.

I wait until we’re almost by the door. I wait until every eyeball, optic, scanner and visual sensory input device in the seedy, smoky bar is turned toward Jojo and I. Once I am certain _everyone_ is looking, ready to laugh as the big guy throws the little guy out of the bar, I summon it.

The orange glow catches everyone by surprise, especially Jojo, and produces an audible gasp. But the show is only just beginning. To my utter satisfaction, the room erupts in horror as the plate on my forearm slides across, changing things from red to purple. Then, when the glowing Energon blades snap out from the newly-visible internal displacement cannon mounted on my arm, people start _screaming_.

It’s a happy day.

I fire the cannon into Jojo’s foot. The big lug is _just_ mechanical enough for it to hurt. Gyroscopic systems go haywire and he stumbles, pitching forward. I lift my feet to brace them against the wall, then push back. Already off-balance, Jojo is unable to resist my momentum and topples like a tree. The wall kick carries me up and over – freeing my neck from his grip – and I somersault onto the floor, landing on my feet.

Then, just for good measure, I drive the Energon blades into Jojo’s body and slit him from pelvis to throat.

The screaming is getting even louder now, and this facet of me is in its element. It’s just as well, really, I got around to balancing my natural duality a decade or so back. Otherwise I’d be feeling really guilty right now. But let’s face it: where’s the fun in being radically both if you can’t get radical every once in a while?

Jojo’s twin brother – well, save for the fact his carpace is blue – charges at me. Spontaneously I decide _this_ must be Cletus. Not that it’ll matter for long. The other essential difference between Jojo and Cletus is that the former had just a hint of robotics about him… while Cletus has metal _all over._ Lovely.

The first shot from my cannon stops him cold. The second doubles him over. The third causes most of his internals to blow out through his back, spraying terrified patrons with coolant and sparking microchips. The fourth causes him to vomit up a good litre of nanites-rich fluid and drop, dead, right through the centre of the digital pianola.

Cletus and Jojo are dead. Nobody’s that interested in mourning them. The two bruisers with whom they were drinking – one red, one black – have somewhere else to be, judging by how fast they’re running.

It’s not fast enough. I flex my ankles and my blades spring into my hands. I whip my right hand out like a professional darts player would, back on Earth, and skewer Mr Black through the thigh. His red-headed friend takes the left-hand blade in the head. The force of the impact actually tears the cranium from the neck, and his headless crimson body trips over a anti-grav pool table before it stops twitching.

The crowd, still screaming, parts as I wander toward it. I don’t even have to push beings out of my way to reach Mr Black. He’s coughing and spluttering, cursing in a language I don’t recognise, and generally being a pain in the skidplate. I retrieve the other blade from the remains of the Red Baron before pulling its twin out of Blackie. He howls in pain; I don’t pay much attention. Instead, I fix the handles of the two blades together, forming what I affectionately call my “big-ass double sword”.

Mr Black is far too heavy for me to pick up, so I crouch over him instead. I hold the blade along his body lengthwise so that one edge is pressing into his nose, the other into his nether-regions. These organics and their need to reproduce… it’s _such_ a biological failing.

“Your species is either obsessed with interfering in other people’s business,” I growl, putting just a little weight on the blades, “or you’re somehow connected with the holo-poster on the wall. I doubt you’re the one who put it up, which can only mean you’re some kind of bounty-hunting family. Is that it?”

He whimpers and nods.

“Competition in a free marketplace is one thing,” I say lightly. “But trying to kill your business rivals is just rude.”

Mr Black visibly relaxes. A sigh of relief puffs from his tusky mouth.

“I mean, either you respect them enough to _actually_ kill them, to _succeed_ in your murder attempt,” I continue, “or you just don’t try in the first place.”

The alien’s eyes go wide. They’re still as big as saucers even after I’ve put my full bodyweight onto the blades and sliced him in half.

At long last, the bar is empty. Blissful silence fills my audio sensors. Truly, there is nothing like a deranged madman to clear out a joint. I’ve been to a couple of inter-species weddings that could have done with a nice axe-wielding psychopath moment. Others have had them, and it’s usually been the mother-in-law with the cleaver.

My train of thought seems to have well and truly derailed, which means it’s time to slip into something a little less homicidal. With a thought and another orange glow, the plate slides back to red and my vision clears. Delicate, finely-tuned sensors pick up the sound of emergency calls; police alerts; pleas for medical assistance. I don’t have very long.

Hank the bar mech is crouched under the counter, spindly arms crossed over his head as if they were a force field. I reach out and pluck him into the air with one finger – one of his, that is, gripped in my right fist. His frightened expression is no doubt mirrored in the blank orange screen where my face should be, and that’s likely freaking him out even more. Good.

“The holo-poster,” I say with false malice. False because my symbols have switched – I’m all about being a nice guy again. Not that he needs to know that. “Who put it up, and where can I find them?”

Hank’s my new best friend, now, and all too happy to co-operate. “Two really weird guys came through, a couple of cycles ago,” he blubbers. “Never seen anything like ‘em before… weren’t cyborgs, really, but somethin’ else. Anyway they asked if they could put up the poster, and I knew Jojo an’ the boys would be through today, so I said okay.”

His eyes are pleading. “I always keep the best jobs for Jojo, mister, you’ve got to understand,” he implored. “They’re so much _bigger_ than everyone else here, and they’d use my legs for tooth picks if I didn’t look out for them. Honest!”

I shake my head and tut. “If they were such a problem, you should have mentioned it to me,” I leer. “Because I’m in the business, too, and taking out creeps like that is something of a personal pleasure of mine.” My voice drops about one hundred degrees in temperature. “But now, Hank, you’ve made me an enemy. Pray I don’t come back to El Pasoz any time soon, or I might turn you into pipe cleaners.”

Hank falls to the floor. A second later, I let his severed finger out of my fist, so it can join him.

The poster makers left El Pasoz two, maybe three days ago. I’ve already got the energy signature of the poster recorded in my data tracks – with only a couple of days head start, the trail will still be fresh enough to follow. I can track these guys, whoever they are, to their next destination and then take the contract.

Because, let’s face it, this one is too good to miss. It’s not often you see the grim visage of a deposed deity slapped up onto the wall of a scummy bar, emblazoned with the words: “Wanted, Flame Convoy: Dead or Alive”.

“By the way,” I call to Hank as I walk out the swinging double doors. “Just because I don’t have a face doesn’t mean I stay out of oil bars. I might not be able to drink, but I can still come in for the conversation.”

He gurgles, groans and passes out. I step onto the street, transform, and make for the stratosphere. My name is Sideways, and I have a new job.


	2. Chapter 2

Could it work? Yes. It _had_ to. Were he to survive, it had to succeed.

Ultra Magnus dragged himself painfully along the black top. His shattered right knee meant walking was not an option. He could stand, if given half the chance, but with little mobility. And because of that joint’s pivotal role in his transformation, folding up into a car carrier was also off the table. No, the Autobot commander’s best option was to crawl and hope he didn’t attract too much attention along the way.

The fuel tanker was agonizingly close. Though badly injured, Magnus was sure he had enough strength to lift the vehicle and hurl it at his tormentor. His own weapons had failed miserably, but perhaps a few hundred tonnes of crude – delivered explosively as possible – would do the trick.

Primus knew he’d tried everything else to bring down the demon gnawing at his heels.

A hail of jagged ice daggers perforated the bitumen to his left. A jet of scalding flame seared along his right side – close, but not enough to do any damage. Bilious fury welled in his sump – he was being _toyed with,_ used for entertainment. His attacker could finish the battle, with but a single blow, at the moment of his choosing. But he was more interested, it seemed, in having sadistic fun.

Ruined buildings jumped and shuddered as Flame Convoy advanced. The mech’s name failed to adequately describe him… nor did it encompass the destructive power that was his to command.

Flame Convoy was one of the ancients; the original 13 robots created by Primus to battle Unicron. It had been his task to work the Plasma Energy Chamber – the foundry in which the first Transformers were built. With his mighty flail and mastery over fire, the blacksmith had sculpted an army of living metal that, eventually, drove Unicron back.

When Primus exiled its “children”, Flame Convoy had led a contingent to a distant world. The green planet, wracked as it was by freak Energon storms, proved lethal to robotic beings. And so those Transformers had adopted beast modes and crafted a savage society based on the rule of might.

Reborn as a three-headed dragon, Flame Convoy came to consider himself a god. Delusional, increasingly insane, he ruled over all of Animatros, both mechanical and organic, for centuries. It was at his command that the Transmetal process – the unholy combination of flesh and metal as one being – was developed. And it was his defeat, at the hands of Grimlock and Swerve, that secured the Green Planet Key.

Magnus tried to push past the static in his mind and concentrate. Grimlock’s report had been clear and unambiguous: Flame Convoy had died. The Dinobot and the metallurgist had tricked the beast, entombing him in lava. Flame Convoy’s organic components had burned away and, cut off from the energy that fed him, he had sunk beneath the surface. Before leaving Animatros, the Autobots had been careful to take life-sign readings from the volcano… and found none. The god had died; the angel had fallen into a fiery pit once and for all.

Yet here he was, a decade later, on Earth… once more a scourge to all life.

Both Flame Convoy and Scorponok – _another mech,_ Magnus reflected bitterly, _who should be dead_ – had arrived inside an icy meteorite. It had slammed into a human city, levelling downtown and killing hundreds of thousands of people. Neither Transformer looked as expected. Flame Convoy’s hide was silver and blue, rather than black and orange, while Scorponok looked like a dark reflection of what he’d once been. 

The Autobot way was to talk; to seek peace and compromise through open discourse. Conflict was a last resort – and throwing a fuel tanker at someone was the _finale_ of all last resorts. Magnus could not have walked the path of peace even if he’d wanted to. Flame Convoy’s initial assault had fragged his synthesiser, rendering him mute.

Besides, Flame Convoy was more than happy to do the talking for both of them.

“Crawl, you insignificant worm – crawl because the sight fills me with pleasure,” he ranted, fangs grinding out every word. “Yours is the fate of all Red Masks; of those foolish enough to sear their skin with the brand of traitors, cowards and weaklings!”

Steam rose from the giant’s form. “And he did cast his gaze over the universe and witness the strife within it,” Flame Convoy sermonised. “Observing from on high, as was his right by divinity, the mighty dragon did choose to rain down over the corrupt world and cleanse it, with fire and ice! Those he found on its surface – marked with crimson; betrayed by the spotting of blood – would die, over and over, as their bodies froze and burned with the fury of the righteous!”

 _He’s making no sense,_ Magnus raged silently. _Everything he says is a contradiction, a meaningless babble! There’s no divinity here, only crass insanity!_

Flame Convoy paused by a building. Once a department store, it was now little more than a charred husk. The technorganic creature punched it into powder. Magnus winced as his keen audio sensors picked up terrified cries – there had been humans, living humans, still inside. With every second, the death toll rose.

“And the mighty dragon said unto the rest: capitulate, ye natives, and be consumed by the purity of the Path,” Flame Convoy roared. “At last, your destiny lies before you. Clear and unfettered, thou can see the end result of thy evolution. Thou art fodder, fleshlings – components in search of the all-powerful machine you were bred to serve! Give up thy skin and bone, surrender thy hair and melanin, that you might achieve perfection!”

 _Swoop’s report,_ Magnus thought grimly. _The Dinobots found a giant pile of corpses – the remains of Animatros’ native fauna. Flame Convoy and his mechs had cannibalised them, used their very bodies to augment their own. Some of those poor beasts were just skeletons with still-functioning heads, others were whole save for puncture wounds over missing lungs, or hearts, or livers. No rhyme or reason, just senseless slaughter… a pattern that bastard now intends to repeat here._

Grim determination filled his fuel tanks. _I made a vow to protect this world,_ he whispered. _And I’ll die before I let Flame Convoy harvest these poor people!_

At last, the truck was within reach. Powerful ivory fingers seized the vehicle, bending its metal. Magnus drew the remains of his right knee up under him, using it to support his weight despite the pain. He looked over his shoulder and snapped-off wing, calculating distances and trajectories. Ensuring his aim would be true.

Flame Convoy was still smiling but, as Magnus watched, his optics rolled back in his skull. Two blue serpentine heads rose from his shoulders with a creaking and snapping of ice. They wreathed through the air like cobras, their hideous gaze settling on Magnus’ weakened body. Flame Convoy’s optics righted themselves, flicking from head to head.

“For once, I agree with you,” Flame Convoy said, addressing the right-hand head. “Usually your negativity sickens me but, in situations like this, there can be truth in your words. Perhaps even wisdom.”

The head looked at him, then hissed and snapped.

“Who could have thought going after _this_ one, the stranger, could be so satisfying? Yes, you were right. We’ve had our turn with Fang Wolf, broken him enough times that it has become a bore. Fresh meat,” he hissed, glittering optics focused on Ultra Magnus once again, “was required, most certainly.”

The left-hand head drooped slightly, its expression dour. “Oh, don’t worry,” Flame Convoy crooned, tickling it under the chin with an ebony claw. “All of us must be wrong sometimes, even you.”

The head snarled. “Don’t be like that,” the dragon snapped, curling his hand into a fist and punching the objecting serpent. “There will still be plenty of Fang Wolf left to consume. Our puppet knows its place. Now please, concentrate on our current plaything. It would be… unseemly… to waste a fresh kill.”

In union, the heads turned to face Magnus.

Nauseated by the spectacle, the Autobot went into action. Magnus lifted the tanker off the ground and over its head. As the crushing weight on his knee intensified, he shrugged his shoulders and hefted the vehicle at his crazed foe. Flame Convoy reacted just as expected. Having no knowledge of fuel tankers – seeing it only as a missile – the beast’s extra heads opened their mouths and spewed fire.

Ice would have been the smart choice. A billowing explosion erased all three faces from sight. The shock wave slammed into Magnus and threw him into the air.

He came down in the sea, having cleared the street and the docks, and the water hissed and evaporated as it touched his super-heated chassis. Salty fluid eroded the ice around his joints; hot metalwork cracked with the sudden temperature drop.

Reaching out with both hands, he caught hold of a ruined jetty and pulled himself back onto land. Plumes of flame were still climbing, higher and higher, into the air. Thick black smoke once again wreathed the debris of the city. With some satisfaction, Magnus noted the explosion had melted the icy meteorite halves that had brought Flame Convoy to Earth in the first place. Poetic justice, he thought.

A fireball erupted from the conflagration and hurtled horizontally over the ground. It caught Magnus full-force in the chest, doubling him over. Crumpled onto his hands and knees, the weary Autobot looked up.

The dragon stood, on four legs, in a pool of water. Half-melted ice crystals sloughed off its wings and long, spiked tail. Blue and silver gave way to charcoal, orange and red, making it seem as if the Transformer’s entire body was alight. The beast’s head was ringed with spines and the extra heads, sprouting from its shoulders, were the colour of embers. A purple jewel was set into the brow of the main head, while Decepticon symbols were embossed into the smaller skulls.

“Our thanks, feeble one,” Flame Convoy rasped, ash falling from his mouth. “The long trip through the dark vacuum of space had chilled us to the very superstructure. And while it preserved our technorganic purity, it also embalmed us with more ice than we could possibly expel in the course of glorious battle. Your gift of flame has warmed us, burned away mutations and returned us to our true state.”

All three heads smiled; row upon row of jagged teeth flashed at Magnus. “Please allow us to express our gratitude by demonstrating what you have returned to us – our true, complete, uninhibited _power!_ ”

\-----

_What manner of beast is this?_ Snarl wondered.

All his life, the white wolf had been a hunter. On Animatros, that meant he had learned to be a warrior as well. Stalking, on his home world, happened on two legs as often as four. Survival and warfare were inextricably entwined; one had to be master of both arenas.

Yet in all his hunts, all his battles, Snarl had never encountered a foe like Scorponok. The wolf had overrun and devoured countless species and, though he knew his foe to be a Transformer, was unable to classify him in any way. The obsidian behemoth followed no pattern, obeyed no code. If Scorponok acted on any form of instinct, it was an inner voice that spoke only to the crazed.

 _He is no beast, despite the resemblance,_ Snarl thought as he loped along a razed street. _For even the most rabid creature acts more deliberately. This one… strikes, and strikes again, whether the item in front of it be living or inanimate._

Laser fire tore up the surface around him. Trusting his wolf mode, Snarl bounded through the deadly barrage and sought cover in the shell of a dwelling. Respite did not last long; Scorponok was upon him in seconds, mighty shovel-like claws tearing the flimsy concrete apart. Snarl turned, dragging his tail-blade across the giant’s face, then ran.

“Scorponok,” the mech muttered. It was the only reason Snarl knew his opponent’s name – the larger robot had groaned, growled and bellowed it, at intervals, since the conflict began. That had been more than an hour ago. Snarl had woken, dazed, after some kind of massive impact. He’d been expecting to look up into the baleful optics of Ultra Magnus; the mech who meant to cage him once more. Instead, he’d found himself beneath the claws of a lunatic who now pursued him.

 _What puzzles me the most,_ Snarl fumed, _is his method._ As he’d done throughout the battle, Scorponok transformed into his beast-like alt mode, drove a few hundred metres on treaded wheels, then returned to robot mode. Each transformation was preceded by a howl of pain or a grunt of hunger. Snarl had no idea what to make of that. The tactic was senseless – be it as a scorpion or a robot, the creature’s weapons were the same – and perhaps even wasteful. It irked the wolf, who above all hated wastefulness.

Scorponok transformed again and hurtled toward Snarl, ploughing up a cloud of concrete dust. The scorpion-like construction vehicle easily overtook the running animal and kept going. More than one hundred metres ahead it stopped, pivoted, and fired barrages from cannons on its tail and its back. Once more, Snarl dodged and weaved his way through the crimson lances, trying to draw closer to his foe. _His advantage lies in his ability to fight at a distance,_ the wolf thought. _I shall rob him of that high ground._

He made it inside Scorponok’s line of fire and activated his Force Chip. Golden fangs grew from beneath his upper lip and he reared back his head, ready to plunge them into the very metal of his tormentor. A sudden fire ripped through his left side, and then his right, causing his knees to buckle and his belly to drop to the ground.

Weakly, Snarl caught sight of the blood-red Energon blades mounted on the outside of Scorponok’s claws. They’d cleaved right through his metalwork… it felt as if the very life was spilling out of him and flowing onto the ground.

Shadows wreathed above him as the beast changed shape, returning to two legs. Its expression, obscured by a thick red visor, was inscrutable. As Snarl watched, the visor slipped up over Scorponok’s forehead and revealed a black face set into a blue helm. Azure optics squinted as the brow above them furrowed; the creature’s mouth opened slightly and permitted a sliver of drool to run down its chin.

“Energon,” it moaned, its voice betraying something almost like ecstasy. “Fresh Energon, trapped within and seeking release… feed, I can feed now!”

With a speed belying his bulk, Scorponok lunged for the wolf. Snarl was too damaged to move out of the way and howled as gold-tipped claws plunged into his chassis. He was lifted into the air like a downed _zagelle_ ready for the slaughter. Horribly, he realised the metaphor was all too apt; a cobalt tongue poked out from Scorponok’s mouth and licked at the beast’s lips.

 _He means to consume me!_ Snarl cried wordlessly.

Panic overwhelmed him. Never before had the white wolf of Animatros been prey. He had been the victim of atrocity, he had been part of vanquished armies. He had lost battles and been defeated in combat. But never, not in his entire existence, had he been so low on the food chain that another creature would dare to consider him sustenance.

Seized by his hunger, Scorponok changed – compulsively, it seemed – between modes. Snarl bounced up and down, still locked between the claws, feeling his metal tear as his foe pulled him steadily apart. The roar of his own fuel pump filled his ears, and it was sweet respite from the near-chanting sound coming from his captor’s synthesiser.

“Energon… feed… Energon… feed…”

\-----

Flame Convoy lowered his heads and charged. Magnus strapped his rifle to his back, did his best to brace himself and, as the crushing impact came, grabbed hold of his enemy’s horns. He was carried along by the dragon, clinging as tightly as he could. The other two heads lashed out, sinking their serrated fangs into his chassis. Magnus did his best to ignore them and tried to _squeeze the life_ out of his foe’s thick central neck.

 _If he’s from Animatros, then he’s a Transmetal,_ Magnus thought grimly. _So it doesn’t matter what I throw at him – he’s just going to heal. That’s how he survived the lava bath Grimlock dumped him in… he got better, because that’s what these freaks do. Unless, of course, you cut off their oxygen._

Arms that had held off armies snaked around the tree-like neck and locked together, crushing with all their remaining strength. Hope surged through his weakened body as the fleshy metal began to give way. Black and orange surfaces yielded under pressure and caved inward; the whole neck bowed just a little. Could he speak, Magnus would have whooped with triumph.

But only for a moment.

His assault met first resistance and then _reaction._ Flame Convoy’s neck punched back at Magnus’ cruel embrace, slapping and bunching against his arms to break the stranglehold. The inexorable force prised Magnus’ fingers apart – the Autobot had to grab out for handholds, to stop himself falling under trampling feet.

“A bold and inventive tactic, doomed one,” Flame Convoy grunted. “Doubtless it would be successful against many a Transmetal. I’d wager you have encountered my Judas and his heathen band – they who spurned my divinity and struck out on their own, stealing many a sacred object as they fled.”

 _Predacon?_ Magnus wondered.

“You believe yourself clever, but you are just as foolish as always,” the dragon continued. “Any Transmetal you have faced has been a mere mortals; a being aspiring to the perfection that I exemplify. Red Mask, you face a _god_ free of the weaknesses that plague those seeking my station.”

He stopped running and, in one fluid motion, transformed. The extra heads folded into his shoulders and his forelegs converted into his arms. Magnus snatched at his rifle but it was too late – he was grabbed by his left arm and right leg, held up in the air and stretched out horizontally. Grunting, Flame Convoy braced his knees to take the weight of a being just as heavy as himself.

“You have rare insight into the ways of the immortals,” he growled. “Savour it, for the few precious seconds of life that remain. _Huntnomore_ is upon you.”

Magnus felt the first tear not in his shoulder, as he expected, but in the middle of his torso. He’d thought his arms and legs would break off first, leaving him helpless before the inevitable final onslaught. But somehow, Flame Convoy was twisting him to guarantee he would break in the middle, dying instantly. Maybe it was better that way.

Inside every Transformer was a memory module; the equivalent of the black box flight recorder on human aircraft. Primarily, it recorded stimuli received while the mech was offline, allowing them to formulate plans even if in stasis lock. It could also receive dictation and keep a permanent record of a Transformer’s thoughts, feelings and reflections. With this secondary function in mind, Magnus directed a data stream from his processor to the module.

_My name is Ultra Magnus. I’m commander of the earthbound Autobot forces – the Research, Infiltration and Defence units. I’m one half of the Binary Spark; tied by birth and destiny to the primal forces that birthed the Transformer race. I am referred to, by friends and foes alike, as the Autobots’ greatest warrior… an unconquerable enemy._

_I am also about to die._

Eventually, the RIDs would finish their battle with the Terrorcons. They would learn of the devastation wrought here, in the city, and come to investigate.

_My chassis is one of the strongest and most potent ever created. Forged in the fires of our god, Primus, it possesses remarkable strength, incredible speed and blinding dexterity. There is virtually no object over which, in vehicle mode, I cannot roll. There exists no known opponent that, in robot mode, I cannot match… and defeat._

_That body is useless to me._

They would find what was left of him and, after their initial grief, follow standard procedure. Scattorshot would recover the memory module from his corpse; Downshift would rig up some sort of device to read it. They’d find this message, his last thoughts, and learn of the danger they faced. Perhaps, if given sufficient warning, the Autobots could devise a way to defeat Flame Convoy.

If they could, then Ultra Magnus’ death would not be in vain.

_I will die because the enemy before me defies all natural laws – be they of Earth or Cybertron. My enemy is no longer a being but a force of nature. One does not defeat a force of nature; one does not turn back the tide. One can only rally against it, for as long as possible, and then fail._

Something vital, deep within his chassis, tore loose in a shower of sparks. Magnus cried in mute pain. His rifle fell to the ground with a clatter. It sounded like a death rattle.

_My name is Ultra Magnus. I am a soldier, a leader, a warrior. In a few moments, I will be naught but a smouldering corpse._

His vision turned to static. In the midst of the snowstorm, a small display blinked – repairs to his synthesiser had been completed. For the first time since the battle began, Magnus had his voice back. It had returned to him just in time to die.

As Flame Convoy heaved – ripping him into two pieces, emptying his life-giving machinery out onto the devastated streets of downtown – Ultra Magnus screamed, just once, and then fell silent forever.

\-----

Just when it seemed the silence would go on forever, a single voice cried out: “Franklin?”

The agent stirred at the sound of his name. “Junko?”

“Yeah… I’m here. Are you okay?”

He wasn’t sure. Franklin tried to move. His upper body shifted with a minimum of pain… his ribs hurt, but his arms and shoulders were working. No broken bones. That he could think showed he hadn’t taken too heavy a blow to the head. The lower half of his body was a different story, however. A bloody shin bone was poking through the dark material of his trousers. Thanks to shock, he couldn’t feel it… not yet, anyway.

“I’m all right,” he lied. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Junko lying just a few feet away. His fellow agent was on her back, breathing slowly. “How are you doing? Anything broken?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d pulled both of us out of the way.”

A sudden flash of memory: he’d been standing in the street watching the giant robot face off with the metallic wolf. It was the vindication of everything he’d ever believed – proof that his “mad theory” of mechanical life was spot-on. There’d been a squawk over his radio, something about a category three alert. Then the sky had lit up, as if someone had struck a match on the atmosphere, and Junko had grabbed him…

They were, he realised, in the ruins of a building. From what he could see, it had been some sort of clothing boutique. His stomach twisted at the sight of decapitated bodies; relaxing only when he realised they were headless mannequins. Other bodies, half-buried under rubble, weren’t as easily dismissed.

Favouring his leg, Franklin shifted along the floor to meet with Junko. Though she was uninjured, her immaculate blue hair had suffered. It usually hung halfway down her back; even in the half-light, he could see it had been chopped bluntly across the middle. “Pah,” Junko sneered, following his gaze. “I was going to cut it anyway. Dye costs too much.”

She helped him to his feet, ordering him to lean on her and keep his broken leg off the ground. “There has to be some way out of here,” she said. “I can hear noises outside, like some kind of war. Either the robots are still going at it…”

“Or something worse has happened,” Franklin nodded. “Maybe the meteor that the tech guys picked up, back at the base?”

“That’s my guess,” Junko muttered. “It changed course, all right, and targeted the city.”

“So what the hell was it, then?” Franklin wondered aloud.

There was a loud groaning sound. Junko eased Franklin down onto the floor and urged him toward an overturned display. “The roof’s giving in,” she barked. “Get under any kind of cover you can. I haven’t survived a blasted meteor shower to die in something as pedestrian as a goddamn building collapse!”

Franklin looked up. “It’s not collapsing,” he whispered. “It’s _rising._ ”

Shafts of sunlight pierced the gloom as the store’s roof lifted off. Franklin realised there were hands bracing the edges of the masonry, pulling it away. Two of the hands ended in three-fingered claws while the other two… perhaps it was a trick of the light, or a touch of shock, but he was sure they looked like the jaws of some kind of animal.

“Got it,” a loud voice said.

The roof came free and sailed away, as if it had been thrown. Franklin shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness, then found himself staring at… well, ordinarily he would be staring at something utterly freakish. Given the events of the preceding hours, however, he was less than completely surprised.

A giant mandrill was peering into the store. Its colourful face was a mask of concern; its brow was furrowed around a gemstone set into its forehead. Closer inspection revealed the beast to be at least partly mechanical – some of the hairs on its form were actually thick wires, while its jaw was hinged and bolted. Its eyes were a clear plastic.

There was a flash of light and a blur of motion – then, another creature popped into view. It was a black-headed dinosaur of mixed breeding; a two-legged carnivore with a heat-catching, scalloped fin on its back. The tops of its legs were festooned with powerful gears and its hide was a mixture of brilliant reds and oranges. It, too, looked concerned.

“It’s all right, now,” the dinosaur said in a youthful voice. “You’re safe. Are you native to this world?”

Franklin and Junko nodded.

“Then we have need of your help – both of you,” the beast continued. “Your planet has been targeted by a force of nature, a foul villain who has already sought to put a torch to other points in the galaxy. Local knowledge is essential to defeating him.

“My name is Repugnus. My friend is called Apelinq. And believe me when I say that, if we can not stop Flame Convoy, no one can.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Emancipation, Fang Wolf? This is bad comedy.”

Snarl struggled, but failed to break free. Not that he could struggle too hard – the gaping wounds down either side of his chassis throbbed with pain. Even the slightest of movements was excruciating.

The beast holding him cared little for his torment – or, worse, derived pleasure from it. Scorponok had been poised to kill him, to suck out his very life essence, when Flame Convoy intervened. The three-headed dragon had slapped his minion across the back of the head, as a mother would discipline its pup, and Scorponok had slunk away.

Snarl had been allowed – ordered – to transform; had managed to shift back to two legs through a blood-red haze of twisting discomfort. Scorponok had once again seized him, this time by the arms, and lifted him into the air. The gold and black mech was panting, _salivating_ , at the radiation seeping from Snarl’s wounds. The air was thick with escaping Energon; the tang of corrupted oxygen reminded the wolf of his home world.

“You sought to escape me by leaving Animatros,” Flame Convoy continued. “By leaving me for dead, in fact. Worse, you showed your utter contempt for me – and your natural cowardice – by surrendering the kill to others.” He bared his fangs. “Rest assured the mechanical dinosaur and the small red robot will be dealt with, in due course. But even their sins pale in comparison to yours, Fang Wolf.”

He was trapped. With a sick feeling, Snarl realised he’d _always_ been trapped.

He’d been raised on Animatros, deep within the cult that worshipped Flame Convoy. He had ascended through the ranks to a position of power; become second to the “god” himself. That was back when he was known as Fang Wolf, and when his savagery had known no bounds. Naively, he’d thought he possessed power when, in truth, he’d done naught but gild the cage of zealotry in which he was confined.

And so he’d broken free – run away, with Ligerjack and Saidos, to form his own pack. Others had joined them and, over time, the Red Masks became a force with which to be reckoned. But Ligerjack was reckless and Saidos stupid; neither was fit to lead. Thus had Fang Wolf become trapped again – lured by freedom and power, he’d been snared by the leashes of leadership. His desire to be truly free had been reigned in by the responsibility of controlling others, and by the quest to endure a war with his old pack.

Fang Wolf had survived the war but, again, been caged – this time within his own mind. In losing to Flame Convoy, he’d been lobotomised and reduced to no more than a slavering animal, wandering the wilds of Animatros. Freedom from that – and sanity – came only in the form of another prison; fealty to the Autobots, given to escape the ruins of his home world and the spectre of Flame Convoy.

Worse, it had led to the most choking cell of all: captivity within an ill-formed “nature preserve” governed by Ultra Magnus.

He spared a glance at the shattered metal around him. Though he’d held no great love for Magnus, he was repulsed by the manner of the Autobot’s death. Snarl had been surprised by the way the giant had fought, right to the bitter end. He’d seen, many times, beings surrender to the inevitable and beg for Flame Convoy’s mercy. Magnus had gone on to _huntnomore_ without regret, without bleating or crying.

_I grossly underestimated your resolve,_ Snarl addressed the seeping halves of his former comrade. _Truly were you a warrior, Ultra Magnus. May your hunting ground be fertile, bereft of predators and bountiful with prey. Go with the sun and the moon._

“Pay attention,” Flame Convoy snapped. Orange talons raked Snarl’s face, slapping him back around until he faced his erstwhile leader. “I did not cross the void, brave the tunnel in the stars, to be ignored by a worm such as you! Centuries of injustice, dealt by your paws, are to be revenged before the sun sets, Fang Wolf.”

Snarl’s mind reeled. _Centuries? Tunnels? It makes no sense!_ Ten years, as the humans measured time, had passed since the white wolf had left his home world. _Is his mind so crippled by insanity, so singed by lava, that it has lost all reason?_

“Centuries of injustice but, at the same time, unexpected benefit,” Flame Convoy ranted. “Eons of bathing in the liquid fire granted me power beyond that I had ever known. Once I was a god, Fang Wolf… a deity amongst peons such as yourself. Now…” His optics glazed over. “I am beyond godliness and part of the infinite itself!”

He lashed out with both hands, digging his claws into Snarl’s wounds. The wolf howled piteously, but no relief came. Flame Convoy tore at the jagged steel, rending it further and further asunder. As quickly as it began, the punishment stopped; the dragon leaned in close, peeling Snarl’s paint with sulphurous breath.

“Death comes not this soon,” Flame Convoy whispered. “Nor does it come alone. For you are but the first of my traitorous disciples, Fang Wolf. Somewhere on this world, Predacon seeks to escape my righteous fury. In this, as he does in all things, shall he fail.”

\-----

The wolf’s cries echoed across the ruined city. They dug into Franklin’s ears like knives, making his skin crawl and pimple with goose bumps. Though he’d known pain in his life… both emotional and physical… the weakened agent could scarcely imagine the torment being endured by the alien being. In truth, he was grateful for his lack of insight.

“I’d thought the old evils were long gone – that our world no longer had to know the taint of demons and monsters,” the creature that towered over Franklin hissed. “How wrong I was. Evil cannot be buried, only annihilated… and that is why we are here.”

Repugnus stood about as tall as the metal wolf but was smaller – he had less length and bulk, and was much thinner. He reminded Franklin of dinosaurs he’d seen in books. Of course, none of those reptiles had fire-engine red skin, highlighted by patches of yellow and red. Despite the gloom, the fin on Repugnus’ back glowed brightly with a reserve of solar energy. Ebony teeth, set in coal-black jaws, clicked as he spoke.

“No matter what he says, Flame Convoy did not leave Animatros willingly,” Repugnus continued, looking earnestly at Franklin. “He was _driven_ away.

“Our society was firmly established; our rules and boundaries as solid and dependable as the Steel Shard Mountains themselves. But Flame Convoy would have us swear fealty to him, bid us take up his mad ways of blood and death and destruction. Though our way was one of harmony, we were unafraid to take up arms to fight.”

As the beast sighed, his multi-coloured scales rippled. “Sadly, the demon ran not back to his lair but into the sky, borne on the back of his lackey. What choice had we but to follow, to give pursuit? And so we hunted, as is our custom, but this time through the stars themselves. Chased was he through the tunnel of stars and into this realm, but only by two of us – those who could survive the harsh, lifeless ink between the points of light that ever shine down on the hunting grounds. Do you understand?”

Franklin looked up. “Honestly? You lost me at the point where you said your name was Repugnus,” he smiled stupidly. “But it’s fine, really. You just keep on talking.”

“This gains us nothing,” the mandrill snorted. Franklin had paid little attention to the other animal – it seemed content to sit in silence, albeit a tense silence, while Repugnus spoke. Looking closer, he could see the gemstone in its forehead sparked, every now and again, with red energy.

“Flame Convoy is poised to kill another of the first born,” Apelinq continued. “Though we know him to be the traitor of legend, not even Fang Wolf deserves such a cruel and lingering death. We must act, Repugnus, and quickly. No more blood can be spilled.”

Repugnus noddled, muscles in his black neck bulging with the action. “All right,” he said simply. “We shall. Still, I wish we could communicate properly with the natives.”

Junko had been just as silent as Apelinq… until now. “Franklin might be all over-awed by this first contact nonsense,” she muttered, spitting on the ground for good measure, “but some of us poor humans _are_ capable of using our mouths to do more than drool.” The blue-haired agent pulled the sabot pistol from her holster and loaded another few rounds. “How much of a distraction do you need?”

“I’m sorry?” Repugnus asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Dis-tract-shun,” Junko overemphasised. “You know, use the little humans to run around and keep the big nasties busy while you all-powerful alien types throw down.”

Apelinq chuckled, sounding a little like a hooting monkey as he did. “I like this one,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “Must be something about us bipeds.”

When Repugnus grinned, it was all teeth. “Two legs are always best,” he said.

\-----

“Where is he, Fang Wolf? I caught the scent of his foul, traitorous hide even as your stench assaulted my nostrils. I _know_ he is here somewhere – tell me!”

Snarl had no clue where Predacon had holed up. Even if he did, he reflected, he’d not have told Flame Convoy. He held no love for the tyrannosaur zealot, who had stood at the dragon’s left as he had at the right, but nor would he surrender him.

As blackness toyed with the edges of his vision, Snarl realised something important. His life, every moment of it, had been a denial of freedom. By his actions, he had denied others their liberty – most recently Koji, the human child he had betrayed. He was no better than his captors; no greater a warrior and as equally without honour. Snarl’s contempt for those who had acted as enemies should have been reserved for himself.

_No more,_ he said, locking his jaw to stifle another scream. _No more! If I survive this, then I will undertake a new type of transformation. Freedom and liberty shall be my goals. Not for myself but for others, so that I might atone for my selfishness._

Scorponok pulled his arms higher, stretching him out. Flame Convoy leaned backward, pulling at his insides with thick talons. Snarl refused to yell, to give them the satisfaction.

“Demon!”

Flame Convoy’s optics widened. The fleshy parts of his face blanched white. A single, thick droplet of sweat trickled over jagged metallic plates. “It can’t be,” the dragon whispered. “It simply cannot be!”

Behind Flame Convoy stood two figures – one strange, the other all-too familiar. The reptile was unmistakably Dinoshout. His colouring had changed – but hadn’t Flame Convoy been carved from ice, upon his arrival? Snarl knew the odds had moved uncomfortably against him, even without considering the muscular mandrill.

“Repugnus… Apelinq,” Flame Convoy whispered. “You followed me here?”

“We would follow you past the ends of all creation, beast,” the newcomer replied, “if it meant sparing the universe a moment of _fighthuntkill._ ” The lizard reared back and roared: “I… am transformed!”

Light spilled from the creature’s every pore. Snarl watched, transfixed, as the lizard began to morph into a new body. It did not transform, at least by the wolf’s definition. No gears were visible; no plates shifted; no limbs ratcheted around and became something else. Instead, Repugnus turned inside out and around himself. His neck and head did not convert into his arms, it _flowed_ like a liquid and _congealed_ in a new shape. His legs straightened as if the bones within them had re-fused; his helmet-like face pushed out from the base of his fin in the same way a flower opened.

“I… am transformed,” Apelinq yelled, beginning his own metamorphosis. His limbs seemed to float, inches from his body, as his torso inverted, split open and turned inside out. Face trickled down and melted into back; feet evaporated into hands; a new head and chest grew from the old like fresh grain on the field. The mandrill’s true face reminded Snarl of Optimus Prime. The beings shared the same basic head shape although the ape boasted a wryly-grinning mouth, rather than a mask-like plate.

Repugnus and his simian partner leaped at Flame Convoy. Their very frames seemed to explode with power and raw aggression. Hooting and hollering, the ape crashed into the fallen god and toppled him. The lizard continued past them both and caromed into Scorponok. The beast instantly lost his hold and Snarl and rolled away; claws already snatching at his new enemy. Dazed and in pain, the wolf fell and tried to lie still.

Flame Convoy batted his opponent away. In a burst of light, Apelinq returned to his monkey form. Opposable toes snagged hold of a street light, instantly halting his flight. The mandrill used the momentum to pivot and launch himself back at the dragon; another glow heralding his return to “robot” form. He lashed out with red fists and flat, shovel-like feet, dealing damage quicker than Flame Convoy could heal it.

Scorponok, meanwhile, had resumed his odd battle style. He flicked between scorpion and robot with an almost hypnotic effect. It seemed to matter little to the lizard. His visor-like eyes were glued to the madman’s tail and, when it stabbed forward, he was ready.

Repugnus’ muscular forearms grabbed the barb while smaller, yellow claws – the arms of his reptile form – latched onto the stinger. With one smooth motion, the red-and-gold creature stepped to the side and drove the dagger into the blacktop. It held fast, stopping Scorponok from transforming again.

“Hey, freaks!” Snarl recognised the voice of the blue-haired female. “Eyes up!”

She was resting bizarre weapon on her shoulder. The large tube looked to be made of metal but was luminescent. Snarl thought it might be what a dream would look like, could it be rendered in the real world.

The woman pulled the trigger – Apelinq and Repugnus immediately broke off their attacks and scattered.

It was easy to see why. Thousands of tiny knives erupted from the mouth of the tube – it was a larger version of the pistol with which she’d shot Snarl, hours before. The daggers burrowed into Flame Convoy and Scorponok, hurting them as much as they’d hurt the white wolf. Snarl savoured their cries of outrage, taking vengeance where he could.

Wiry, haired arms looped around his battered chassis and lifted him off the ground. Apelinq, once again in the form of a mandrill, favoured Snarl with a quick grin and took off, bounding them both down the street.

Over his rescuer’s shoulder, the wolf watched the blue-haired woman scramble onto Repugnus’ back. A dark-skinned human, already sitting there, helped. Then the lizard sprinted along the road, his upper body and neck parallel to the ground, and they were gone… leaving their wailing foes behind.

\-----

“Lie still.”

The simian’s voice washed over Snarl like the coolest of balms.

“Peace, Fang Wolf. For now, your fight is over. Permit me to tend to your wounds.”

They were by the ocean, concealed beneath the splintered remains of a jetty. All around him, Snarl could smell raw sewage mixed with the detritus of death. It was a nauseating stew made all the worse by his heightened senses.

Apelinq’s face was a portrait of concern yet his eyes – true, organic eyes, not optics nor stolen orbs – scanned Snarl’s body clinically. He nodded, once or twice, and made noises of concentration. Finally, he stood back and raised his red hands to his chest. The device mounted therein… a crimson sphere mounted in a silver circle, with handle-like extensions… looked like the Creation Matrix.

At a touch, white light spilled from the device and twinkled in the gloom. Pinpoints of luminescence came together, drawing in ever more of their kind and sketching a shape against the dusk. As it grew more solid, so too did it draw into focus.

Moments later, a new being stood before Snarl. Like Apelinq, it was a fluid merging of metal and flesh – but its silvery features were decidedly feline. Its body bore the same crimson hue as the device that birthed it, while tapered silver limbs ended in thick, clawed hands and feet. Ebony blades sat atop its shoulders while a long, whip-like tail trailed behind it. It smiled down at Snarl with a benevolent, almost naïve expression.

“How may I assist you?” it asked.

“CatSCAN,” Apelinq said, addressing his creation. “Basic diagnostic and repair. Your patient is one of the first born – access Oracle data tracks 18 through 27 for schematics. Maximum speed; this one has already suffered enough.”

“Understood,” CatSCAN said brightly. “It would be my pleasure to help.”

Razor sharp, yet delicate claws worked across Snarl’s body. Repairs were affected faster than he could believe; within the hour, his ruptured chassis had been sutured enough for his internal repair systems to take over and truly heal him.

Its job done, CatSCAN bid a cheery farewell and disintegrated into a cloud of sparkles, all of which flowed back into the orb on Apelinq’s chest.

“Impressive,” Snarl growled. “A most amazing device. One could assume it to be the source of the weapon the female human used?”

Apelinq nodded. “The Translink Interface has been our salvation many times,” he said sagely. “I spent many months with the Oracle to get it right, but it was worth every cycle. It remains my best creation.”

The wolf peered at him through a single optic. “CatSCAN, then, is non-living?”

“He has a degree of sentience and personality,” Apelinq explained, “but, as far as I can ascertain, he only records memories for as long as he is corporeal.” He smiled. “Even so, I consider him a friend.”

“Any ally with such use should be held close to one’s Spark,” Snarl agreed.

Repugnus joined them. “Fang Wolf,” he said, the reverence obvious. “I bid you welcome and am glad for your recovery. There is much wisdom in your words. Your usefulness at this time makes you _very_ dear to my Spark, indeed.”

The human female was at Repugnus’ feet. Peering through the gloom, Snarl could see the male sleeping nearby – the injury to his leg, it seemed, was beyond CatSCAN’s experience. “You keep odd company,” the wolf noted.

Repugnus smiled toothily. “The smallest ant in the colony can contribute the greatest crumb,” he offered.

“Jungle wisdom,” Snarl grunted. “It would seem we are of the same world, then.”

“The same,” Repugnus replied, “and yet different. Much has changed on Animatros since your departure. Its nature would clash badly with your memories.”

“What do you mean?”

The lizard took a breath. “We know the wars between the Red and Purple Masks decimated our world,” he began. “By the time of Grimlock the Great, life had simply ceased to exist. Yet, from the morass of decay left by Flame Convoy’s greed, new beings evolved. This achingly slow progress was observed by the Oracle, which remained safe within the fiery mountain, until such time as it could reach out and begin to direct the fledgling life stain to noble pursuits.”

Though his words were ludicrous, Snarl understood them. There had been a pile of shattered corpses stacked near _The Ark_ – the ship that had first brought Transformers to Animatros. Impossible as it may seem, a new evolutionary cycle had begun, unnoticed by all… save one. _The Ark_ ’s central computer must have advanced in a similar way, taking on a personality and intelligence as did its new “neighbours”. _Madness!_

“Thus did we come to pass; a step forward from the ancients,” Repugnus continued. “While you and your ilk were metal, sometimes wearing a stolen fleshy coating, we were truly of both species. From the Oracle did we learn the lost art of Transformation. Though it took many long cycles of meditation, of banishing our fears, we learned to walk erect as well as on paws and talons. In the swamps at the base of the Steel Shard Mountains did we re-start society, developing technology from the iron that seeded the fields, discovering agriculture in the grasses between the wiring. And at every point was the Oracle, teaching and directing as needed, but content to let us roam and explore.”

_Perhaps,_ Snarl thought, _life of all types re-started. Animatros may truly be a technorganic world now – optic fibres writhing amongst roots and tendrils; Teflon rising up from soil, mercury mixing with mud and silt!_

The idea was unsettling. _It sounds… frightening. Wrong. Animatros was a place of natural splendour, of untamed beauty! We were not of it, yes, but we remained part of it. The point was not to assimilate but to conquer what was already there – possession without alteration. Flame Convoy’s way would have corrupted every blade of grass with a microchip; impregnated each tree with a data screen. This… abomination of a world is the antithesis of all I sought to achieve! And how could it have possibly occurred – the creation of life, on a grand scale – in but a decade?_

“We were paying tribute to the Oracle when it all came undone,” Apelinq said darkly. “It would seem Flame Convoy escaped his tomb aeons before and hid. With Scorponok, he attacked and demanded our allegiance. We knew who he was… who all of you were, through the teachings of the Oracle… and so retaliated. Upon our victory, Flame Convoy fled not onto the plains, however, but into the sky – carried aloft on the back of his bestial servant,” he finished. “Repugnus and I were the only ones able to follow. I could create our means of passage, via the Interface, and keep myself alive through its gifts. And Repugnus’ fin gathers solar energy from as far as it needs – every star we passed replenished both his strength and his Spark."

“We have searched many worlds,” the lizard said, transforming amidst a blue nimbus, “before arriving here. How I wish we had come sooner, and spared these small creatures the torture they have endured.”

The female coughed. “Speaking for ‘we small creatures’, I’d say we’ve been knocked down but not out,” she groused. “If you weirdos can give us some time to regroup, our armies can invade the city with so many sabot cannons, your enemies will need magnets just to pull the prickles from their paws. And the name’s Junko, by the way.”

_Apelinq was right,_ Snarl thought quietly. _This one is worthy of admiration._

“A good plan, but one doomed to fail,” Repugnus grimaced. “Surprise was our greatest weapon. Neither the demon nor his standard bearer shall be caught so unawares again. To confront them both, directly, would be suicidal.”

“How’d you beat him down back home?” Junko asked.

“Sheer numbers. On Animatros, we were legion – an armada of beast machines, capable of trampling all in our path.” He sighed. “What I would not give, right now, for Ramulus’ passion, Torca’s size, or Polar Claw’s ferocity.”

“Allies can be found anywhere, if one knows a way to look,” Snarl said. “There are more Autobots, here on this world, who will fight for it. I will not lie and say they are deserving of my trust – nor I theirs – but your cause is common.”

_Besides, I misjudged Magnus… perhaps Rodimus and the others may yet rise to the occasion, if properly motivated._

“Sound thinking,” Apelinq said. “I might have just the thing for finding them.”

He held out a paw. Light from the Interface filled it, coalescing into a dark, boxy device. An antenna sprouted from its top, while a bubble-shaped screen took up most of its width. “Evolution has made us different but the source of our lives – a Spark – remains the same,” Apelinq explained. “This is how we tracked Flame Convoy through the tunnel and across the stars… now, it can help us find your friends.”

The device showed a high concentration of Sparks many kilometres away – too far to be of immediate assistance. Two much closer were likely Scorponok and Flame Convoy. Three others, off to one side, designated their own position by the docks.

“What about that one?” Snarl asked, pointing to a small pulse near the bottom of the screen. “Even a single chassis could turn the tide.”

Repugnus and Apelinq shared an odd look.

“What’s crawled up your tailpipes?” Junko asked.

The lizard swallowed hard. “That Spark signature is coming from the battleground,” he whispered. “Even though our enemies have moved on – no doubt in search of us.”

“Meaning?” Snarl demanded.

“Your friend, Ultra Magnus,” Apelinq breathed. “His body has been destroyed… but his Spark is still alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Two hands with four fingers each. One thumb per hand, as well. Two arms, torso, neck, head and two legs – one broken.”

“You taking inventory of the robot’s body parts or your own?” Junko growled.

Franklin ignored her. “Ten wheels, ramps, steering column, dashboard, gearshift, two wings, one enormous weapon with two different types of gun barrels.” He nodded. “If the schematic you’re projecting is right, Snarl, then we have everything.”

“A hunter misses no detail, Agent Franklin,” the wolf replied, gripping the hologram generator a little tighter. “There was a time I believed combat between myself and this one to be essential – necessary for my freedom. I made good study of his form.”

“And it’s just as well you did,” Apelinq said. His powerful simian arms dug through piles of debris and twisted metal, organising it into neat piles. “Otherwise we’d have little or no chance of putting Ultra Magnus back together. And without the reservoir of power he possesses, our fight against Flame Convoy is most likely already over.”

Franklin looked at the junk heap. The idea that their motley group could resurrect the giant car carrier amazed him. He ran through everything he’d learned, once again, to make sure he had it down pat.

Transformers, he had discovered, weren’t just robots. A robot was no more than the sum of its parts; whatever personality it possessed was due to its programming. Transformers, however, had within them a “Spark”. That quantifiable fragment of energy did for Transformers what theologians would have you believe souls do for humans. A piece of their race’s progenitor, a Spark was the very essence of a Transformer. As long as it pulsed, the metallic being was not dead.

But almost always, the destruction of body meant the termination of Spark. This seemed to be a rare exception to the rule; moreover, it sounded like it was the second time Ultra Magnus had cheated death. Snarl seemed to think he could not be saved again, while Apelinq was supremely confident. Franklin just wanted to see what would happen. So many of his old questions had been answered that he was excited about new ones.

“How goes it?” Repugnus asked. The lizard had only just returned from a quick recon of the surrounding area. No one wanted to be caught off-guard by black scorpions or three-headed dragons. “Are we ready to begin?”

Snarl tossed the hologram projector over his shoulder – it swirled and dissolved into Apelinq’s chest. “This is foolishness,” the wolf spat. “Though I mourn the passing of one so surprisingly honourable, our efforts are poorly pooled here. We are out in the open, in the very midst of a battlefield at which we have already suffered grievous defeat. As strategies go, this is one of the worst.”

“I agree with you totally,” Repugnus said brightly. “Which is why you and I shall venture forth and engage the enemy. That will give Apelinq and CatSCAN the time they need to effect repairs.”

Junko smirked, and Franklin fought back a laugh. A surprised Snarl was a pleasant sight.

“A sound idea,” the wolf said finally. He seemed to be grinding his molars. “Let us away, to better give the healers room in which to work.”

Franklin watched as they transformed. He knew, now, that they shared a common home world – a place called Animatros – but they could not have been more different. Snarl became a wolf through a series of whirring, clicking motions that sent plates folding and warping in all directions. Repugnus, meanwhile, _melted_ out of one shape and into another, the entire process bathing him in a glowing blue light.

The unlikely pair took off – Snarl bounding, Repugnus low to the ground – and soon vanished amongst the remnants of the downtown area. Franklin looked at the ruined buildings and wondered how many others were trapped inside shops and cafes, as he and Junko had been. _What’s better: hoping they’re alive, or wishing they’re dead?_ He wondered if he’d ever know the right answer.

Using one of Magnus’ giant fingers as a crutch, Franklin hobbled over to the debris pile. Junko offered her arm and he took it, letting the makeshift walking aid clang down next to its fellows.

“Your friend CatSCAN was pretty handy for fixing up Snarl,” Junko said, flicking a strand of blue hair out of her face. “Can he really manage a job this big?”

“Actually, he can not,” Apelinq admitted.

The Translink Interface grew bright as streamers of light burst from it. A dozen glowing ribbons fluttered out from Apelinq’s chest and touched the ground, each one wadding up into a solid ball. The spheres radiated out, their shapes stretching and tapering to create a bunch of familiar silhouettes. With a final shimmer, each streamer became a fully-realised, identical CatSCAN, complete with matching vacuous grins.

“However, 12 of him might just do the trick,” the mandrill smiled.

\-----

Snarl’s hackles rose. “What are you whispering?” he demanded.

They’d crossed half the downtown area without catching Flame Convoy’s scent. The wolf was less than impressed – how could two beings so large evade detection so well? His temper was badly frayed, and muttered words from a supposed ally were not helping.

“It’s part of the transformation process,” Repugnus snapped. Patience, it seemed, was wearing thin on both sides of the search. “Unlike you first born, my people had to _learn_ how to transform. It took meditation, dedication and more concentration than I care to remember.” He shuddered. “Some made it but halfway before their bodies gave out, and they surrendered their Sparks to the Pile. Those of us who did it… who found the way to walk erect… honour them to this day.”

“But what of the radiation in the air – and in the plants and the soil?” Snarl asked as he returned to robot mode. “Does your… fleshy nature… make you immune?”

“We have no fear of our world’s unique ambiance,” the lizard said. “As the Oracle remakes the world, so too does it suckle upon the toxins surrounding its chosen people and divert them into itself. What would kill us made the Oracle stronger, and in turn it helps us to establish society once more. It is a symbiosis.”

“It’s abhorrent,” Snarl spat. “You realise, do you not, that you have simply exchanged one false deity for another? The creature you so revere, that you worship, is nothing more than an ancient computer from Cybertron – a relic of an era long dead, forgotten by all! Though it may believe itself to be something special, it is no more worthy of your devotion than… than…” He pointed to a ruptured ATM. “Than _that!_ ”

Repugnus started laughing. “Oh, to hear such words from _you_ of all beings.”

The wolf’s nose crinkled and his lips drew back. Bearing his fangs, he stepped closer. Ally or no, he would not countenance such overt mockery. Drawing his missile launcher, he moved… but Repugnus was faster.

A red mace slapped Snarl’s jaw, knocking him back. The orb must have been on some kind of flexible handle, for it arced in mid-air and returned for another, equally successful, blow. Something behind Repugnus glowed green for a moment, then an obsidian scimitar erupted from the fin on his back. It swung down, narrowly missing Snarl. The glow faded as the blade retracted.

“Test me not, Fang Wolf,” Repugnus warned. “We of Animatros are an ignorant people no longer. We know of Cybertron, of Primus and Unicron, and of the exile. We are acutely aware of who Flame Convoy was and, of course, who sat at his right and left.”

“I…”

“Be silent!

The command sapped all argument from Snarl’s chassis. Though he had been ruled over before, it had never been like this. Flame Convoy’s power had come from fear; from intimidation. Repugnus spoke with the voice of true royalty – of respect earned.

“None on Animatros have delusions as to the truth of the Oracle. It is a tool, a source of wisdom and advice… not our king.” His back straightened. “ _I_ am the ruler of Animatros, Fang Wolf. I serve as guardian, keeper and protector of all lands from my own swamps to the furthest reaches of the poles. Thus was I appointed by my peers and so I shall serve.

“It is a difficult load to carry – the burden hardest to bear – but I shall succeed, for many lives depend on my success. Here, today, many more depend on my ability to snuff Flame Convoy’s destructive embers before they become an inferno.”

His eyes were thick with menace. “You are useful to me as two things: back-up and bait. Step beyond either of those definitions and I will cut you down. Permanently.”

Repugnus offered his hand. Snarl paused for a moment then took it, allowing the smaller mechanoid to pull him to his feet. The lizard’s strength was far greater than he’d imagined. _A predictable evolution of the Transmetal process,_ Snarl thought. _If Flame Convoy, Predacon and their ilk have enhanced strength and healing abilities, thanks to their stolen flesh, then those who are truly technorganic would be more powerful again. Perhaps exponentially so._

He shuddered. _Another uncomfortable reminder of my failure on Animatros. This is the very race I sought to prevent – a rogue limb of a family tree in desperate need of pruning. In departing Animatros, I left my garden to grow unruly, wild and toxic._

His companion had already slipped away. Snarl caught a glimmer of red and yellow around a nearby corner and darted after it. He caught up with Repugnus a few blocks away. The lizard was hunkered down behind an overturned bus. Snarl crept into the cover of a topped building and followed his gaze.

The area before them had once been some form of entertainment venue – a stadium, Snarl believed they were called. Now, it was now twisted into something far less pleasant. Scorponok had bent and re-shaped the roads leading to the circular arena so that they became a maze of dead ends and spiralling over-loops. If there were any complete path, it ended above a deep, sewage-filled moat and battlements spiked with human corpses. Above it all again, atop the domed roof of the stadium, sat Flame Convoy. The beast lounged in a throne crudely hewn from steel, cars and tiny, blackened skeletons.

“He works fast,” Snarl grunted.

“Scorponok? You have a gift for understatement,” Repugnus hissed. “Unlike us, he is bitterly afflicted by Animatros’ toxins. In his beast mode he starves for the radiation, but in robot mode it overwhelms and pains him. That is why he changes form so rapidly… centuries of exposure have conditioned him to act thusly even here, where there is no Energon to consume. He is what the world has made of him.”

“And there it is again,” Snarl sighed. “ _Centuries._ Do you take us for fools? No more than a decade has passed since I last strode upon the plains of Animatros – just 10 years have gone by, consumed by your perverted changes to our world. Why persist with this foolish attempt to confuse us, if you would truly have us as allies?”

Repugnus shook his head. “You _are_ confused, Fang Wolf, though it be not of my design,” he said. “The Oracle keeps measure of all things, including time. The passage of years can be seen in its burning portal as easily as the growth of crops, or the levels of silt in the ground below. I know it to be many, many years – as any race would measure them – since Grimlock the Great buried Flame Convoy, and many thousands of years more since mighty Saidos was crucified on the walls of the volcano.”

“Saidos?” The mention of his old comrade gave Snarl pause. “He is still there?”

“Out of reverence, yes,” Repugnus said, bowing his head and making some sort of gesture with his hands. “His Spark joined the Pile long ago, yet we honour him.”

“And Ligerjack?”

Repugnus looked puzzled. “Who?”

“Ligerjack, the mighty lion,” Snarl urged. “Quick to anger, quicker still with his whip and slashing claws. He, too, fell with Saidos and was displayed within the mountain of fire. Surely you pay him tribute, as well, for he was twice even Saidos’ value!”

“I know tales of who you speak,” Repugnus said slowly, “but there is only one body on the walls of the volcano, and it belonged to mighty Saidos.”

Snarl pressed his paws into his optics. _Another question answered, but another mystery uncovered,_ he raged. _This is driving me to madness! How can one’s own home be such an enigma? Know I nothing of the place from whence I came?_

Another voice echoed over the serpentine freeway. Flame Convoy was bellowing orders to Scorponok, who transformed into his starship mode.

“They are renewing the search,” Repugnus said. “Now is our time to strike.”

\-----

“If you start singing _Dem Bones_ , I’ll break your other leg.”

“Wasn’t even thinking of it.”

“Good.”

Apelinq was looking at them quizzically. “I do not understand the reference.”

“A children’s song,” Franklin explained, “used to teach our little ones how each part of the human body connects with another. I sing it to my own son… I think Junko’s afraid I’ll start reciting it now.”

The mandrill nodded. “It would be an appropriate moment,” he agreed.

To their right, the CatSCAN army was working furiously. The air, once still as a graveyard’s, was leaping with hot metal shards and sparking tools. Working in teams, the cheetah-like medics beat at dented panels and buffed tarnished armour. One produced a tool and spread colour back over Ultra Magnus’ burned areas. Another had detached his wings and, over some sort of portable forge, was hammering them straight.

Another group had their heads buried in the giant’s chest, switching cables and wiring from one port to another. They were, Apelinq had explained, keeping the Spark viable until the rest of the repairs had been completed. “With such a large body to fix,” he’d said grimly, “this is something of a race. Magnus’ Spark should have died out already. Whatever miracle is keeping it from the Pile cannot last indefinitely.”

“You have a son?”

Franklin turned. Junko was at his side, speaking softly.

“Yeah,” he replied. “He’s my youngest – his sister’s a few years older.”

“I had no idea you were even married.”

“I’m not. She died giving birth to the boy – one of those supposedly rare cases that still happen, even with modern medicine.”

Junko’s face was ashen. Franklin waved it away – he’d seen the look before, far too many times. “Don’t mean nothing,” he assured her. “Except maybe that you don’t always know everything, especially about me.”

“You think they’re okay?” Junko asked, nodding at the devastated city. She’d already regained most of her composure.

“We live well out of the city – my folks have ‘em during the day. Still… they’re going to be really worried about me at the moment.” He looked at his leg, then at the alien scene unfolding before them. “With good reason.”

Apelinq joined them. “I have what you would term a brother,” he said. “We emerged from the Pile one after the other, according to the Oracle. He is more chimp-like than I, if I may use your biology as a reference. Red tail, thinner limbs and torso.” He smiled. “More mischievous.”

“Is that why you fight?” Junko asked. “Because he can’t?”

The mandrill nodded. “And because someone must,” he said gravely. “For all our sakes.”

One of the CatSCANs loped toward them and extended its claws in a thumbs-up gesture. “Done,” it said happily. “We even figured out the psychic link between weapon and warrior, which allowed us to fix the big rifle, too.” His diagnosis concluded, the medic joined his peers. A moment later, they shrank back into points of light and retreated within the Translink Interface.

Apelinq touched his hands to the device. They came away clutching an invention that was not unlike a large shovel, albeit with two handles rather than one. “If I’m right, this should stimulate his Spark,” the mandrill said. “I can’t say I always know what these devices will do. I hope I do not injure him further.”

With a whisper, he melted back into his beast form. He climbed up onto Magnus’ legs and made his way to the bigger robot’s chest. Straddling the broad expanse of metal, he raised the stimulation device high into the air and, with both hands, brought it plunging down into Magnus’ very core.

Nothing happened.

“No,” Franklin whispered. Junko reeled off a string of curses. Apelinq suddenly cried out in alarm, his face twisted with panic.

“His Spark is fading,” the mandrill yelled. Wiry fingers gripped the stimulator as he tried desperately to pull it loose. “The energy is being _drained_ , not agitated! Carrier wave cohesion is falling… ions are losing their charge… he is _dying!_ ”

Junko sprinted to help. Franklin could only watch as the colour started to drain from Magnus. To his horror, he realised he could actually _see_ the life slipping from the body; the brightly-hued metalwork fading to a dull, steely grey. _Like rigor mortis setting in,_ he thought unsettlingly. _He’s gone… and with him, all hope._

A loud _cracking_ noise echoed through the downtown wasteland. Apelinq sailed past, the shattered remnants of his device evaporating around him. Junko toppled to the ground with a grunt and a curse, having just managed to dodge the massive arm that had lashed out at them both.

A torrent of colour surged across Magnus’ body, outlining his powerful frame in blues, reds and whites. Fingers flexed, arms tensed and once-ruined knees bent with ease. Lightning crackled from out the giant’s eye sockets and he stood up – shakily.

“You’re… all alive,” he slurred, words coming slowly to his repaired throat.

Awestruck, Franklin nodded.

“As are you,” Apelinq answered. The mandrill pulled himself from a pile of broken concrete and knuckled over. “Ultra Magnus, I am from Animatros and I am in desperate need of your assistance,” he said. “My leader, Repugnus, and I have come to Earth to rid it of a scourge known as Flame Convoy…”

Magnus’ eyes widened. “Flame Convoy?” he asked.

Apelinq nodded.

The giant opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. A strange look crossed his metallic features as he pitched forward, plummeting to the ground like a felled mountain. There he lay, unmoving.

\-----

Snarl buried his bayonet into the overpass and pulled himself up. Repugnus was already waiting – his reptilian traits apparently included adhesive feet. As such, the beast machine covered the undulating, warped terrain far faster than the wolf. His agitation at being delayed was obvious. “Can you move no faster?” he growled.

 _Could I, you would be dead,_ Snarl hissed inwardly. _Filthy abomination. As soon as the greater evil has been expunged, I shall render unto you the fate you so richly deserve. You and the monkey._

They reached the end of the road. Beneath them, the moat yawned, its pungent contents bubbling noisily. At such close range, the stench was enough to stagger Snarl, and he fought to stay upright. Even in his robot mode, it was enough to overpower his hunter’s senses. “This is disgusting,” he rasped.

“All of Earth will be like this unless you find the speed to act,” Repugnus snapped.

The lizard hunched over, fanning the fin on his back out as far as he could. Sunlight glittered between thin bones and played over taut hide. “Take hold of me,” he commanded, stretching an arm out to Snarl.

Snarl wrapped his arms around the thin torso and, in a moment, they were airborne. Repugnus was somehow using the solar power he’d gathered to lift them up on a self-generated thermal. The gust carried them over the chasm and onto the stadium roof. They landed as softly as they could, hoping not to attract Flame Convoy’s attention.

Their stealth was rewarded – the fallen god continued to bellow at Scorponok; the lackey hovered in his flight mode. It seemed to be the only form to which the deranged beast could commit. Looking closer, Snarl noticed a thin tube in Flame Convoy’s hand, and the tendril of Energon connecting it to Scorponok.

“He feeds the creature,” he breathed.

“I suspected as much – doubtless, Energon is hard to come by in the depths of space,” Repugnus nodded. “And rapid transformations would do little to facilitate speedy travel.”

He looked at Snarl. “Flame Convoy will not stop with Transformers, Fang Wolf. Once you and Predacon are dead, and your allies slaughtered, he will strip all flesh off the bones of every last native – be they human or animal – to better himself. Naught will be left save bones, and the choking ash of forests put to the torch.

“We can wait no longer. Oracle willing, Ultra Magnus will return to the fray. But if we pause now, Flame Convoy will take to the skies and rain death across this land. We must strike, now, and give our all. Are you with me?”

Conflicting emotions tore through the wolf. Again, he was being asked to shoulder responsibility – to take on the burden of those weaker than he. _A free being owes nothing to others,_ he thought, _and yet it seems I am fated to step into the fray so that others might be liberated. I vowed to follow this path to its end and atone. A warrior would not retreat from that promise; a hunter would not turn tail and run._

“I am,” he said, readying his missile launcher. “Let us deliver _huntnomore._ ”

They leaped toward their foe – joined, at last, by a common purpose. Flame Convoy heard them, but he turned too late. Snarl crashed into the giant’s knees while Repugnus bit savagely into his shoulders. Two serpentine heads sprung from Flame Convoy’s body and bit the lizard – grunting, he continued his assault.

A beam of light slammed into the combatants, scattering them. Flame Convoy tumbled over the side of the dome – Scorponok was there, instantly, to stop his fall. Repugnus skidded toward the edge but stopped himself with the teeth set into his hands; Snarl rolled and bounced a few times before finding his feet.

“Who dares?” Flame Convoy roared, maddened optics scanning the area.

“Remember someone trying to teach you the art of the deal?” drawled a new voice. It seemed to be coming from within the clouds. “Well, you said you were too _tough_ for anything like this. Big, fancy warriors like you just _took_ what they wanted, didn’t they? Ooh, how achingly special you were.”

A dark, flat shape darted out from cover. It moved not in a straight line but in all directions, sometimes seeming to phase out of reality and teleport to a new location, just metres away. Even with his experience, Snarl had trouble tracking the newcomer.

The odd-looking ship fired another salvo. The beam struck Flame Convoy on the right arm and turned the limb inside out. He shrieked as flesh fell away from bone and strut; wailed as blood dripped down his body and pooled atop Scorponok.

“There’s nothing special about you anymore,” the craft muttered. “These days, you’re just another target – another payday for Sideways.” It chuckled. “Though I’d be lying if I didn’t say this particular bit of business… will be a _pleasure._ ”


	5. Chapter 5

Unlike humans, Transformers were never truly “out of it”.

Whenever a Transformer went off-line, a back-up memory system kicked in and collated streams of data from all functional sensors. Because of it, the Autobot or Decepticon could be “unconscious” and yet still plug the gaps in their memory.

He accessed this resource. All it contained was his own haunted voice.

_One does not defeat a force of nature; one does not turn back the tide. One can only rally against it, for as long as possible, and then fail._

“I believe it was a momentary glitch,” Apelinq said, patting him on the shoulder. The technorganic mandrill was standing. Magnus had managed to sit up, but not much else.

_My name is Ultra Magnus. I am a soldier, a leader, a warrior. In a few moments, I will be naught but a smouldering corpse._

“Simply, your systems were still booting up when you tried to stand. You’re fine.”

Fine? No, Ultra Magnus was not fine… he was _far_ from fine. Not that Apelinq, or any other being, would understand that. How could they? They didn’t have the frame of reference, the experience to comprehend what he’d been through.

“Sadly, our time grows short.” Powerful arms helped Magnus back to his feet; opposable toes gave him back his rifle. “I doubt there will be further problems.”

The problem wasn’t that Ultra Magnus had _died._ No. The problem was that he had _been killed._

Magnus had died once before. Correction: he’d given his life to save all of existence. He’d not regretted those actions, even after he’d been reborn in a new chassis. That was dying… and the differences between it and _being killed_ were huge.

“Snarl and my leader, Repugnus, have already gone forth to challenge Flame Convoy anew,” Apelinq pointed toward the stadium district. “Coupled with your power, Ultra Magnus, we could end this madness permanently!”

For a soldier, being killed was an occupational hazard. Your number could be up at any time, so you accepted that fact and got on with the business of warfare. Because, at the end of it all, being killed wasn’t so bad. Even if it was a horrific, drawn-out, steel-shredding, piston-bursting murder, it would end. The pain would stop.

But the point of being killed was that you _didn’t come back._ If you had suffered; if your spine had been ripped in two; you weren’t supposed to know about it. You moved on to whatever afterlife existed and left worldly pains behind.

You weren’t supposed to be haunted by your final memory; by unshakeable images of your gory, prolonged demise!

You weren’t supposed to be stabbed, recharged, jolted back into existence and told to get up and start fighting!

And you _sure as slag_ weren’t supposed to have to face the being… the creature… the force of nature who unravelled you like a piece of steel wool!

“Please,” Apelinq begged. “Flame Convoy possesses enough pure power to level the rest of this community. Unchecked, he is destruction personified. Earth _will_ die, its people and fauna consumed by the dragon’s flesh-lust. Help us!”

Flame Convoy.

He wanted to stand and fight, to raise his weapon and save the defenceless. But images of being humbled, burned and drowned in an eternal blackness overwhelmed him. The fear… the black, choking fear… was a tangible thing. It oozed from the corners of his vision and pooled in the centre of his sight, rising up and forming a three-headed, winged silhouette that reached for his very Spark with unstoppable talons.

“No.”

Magnus sank to his hands and knees. Ice and fire ran through his every neural pathway, eroding away his courage, his dignity. “I can’t help you,” he gasped, losing the fight against the panic gripping him. “I can’t fight Flame Convoy again.”

\-----

Every motion, every nuance, gave insight into a quarry’s nature. A hunter used this information to best devise the method of his prey’s demise.

Though keen eyes took in much, the angular newcomer defied easy observation. He moved not in three dimensions but four, flitting out of reality only to appear again in a new location. The bladed canon, rising from his back, fired ceaselessly. Every white-hot lance of light twisted another part of Flame Convoy’s body.

“Curse you,” the hydra bellowed. “A thousand times curse you, Sideways!”

Scorponok rushed to assist. Repugnus, rising again on a self-generated thermal, intercepted the dagger-shaped star cruiser. Powerful jaws crushed cockpit and controls and the foes vanished, spiralling away in a thick plume of smoke.

Snarl waited no longer. With a feral growl, he dashed forward and cut Flame Convoy’s legs out from under him. The tortured armour gave way as the blade bit deep; the force of the impact toppled the dragon backward. He crashed not into the dome but _through_ it, plummeting to the arena floor far below.

The rest of the dome gave way like ice over a frozen lake. Snarl made for the edge, trying to outrun the sudden sinkhole. The void gaped at his heels, trying to drag him down… and, at the last second, a thick steel cable dangled before his nose.

“Going up?” the alien craft asked.

As Snarl grabbed the cable, the dome finally gave way. “That’s gonna wreck the show,” the strange one remarked. He seemed to be making a joke. “And it was going to be such a great match, too. Samoa Joe versus Sting for the world title. Ah well.”

They landed a safe distance away, on the warped freeway. As Snarl watched, the newcomer transformed… grunting a few times in the process… until a familiar symbol stood revealed. He converted to beast mode and pounced; knocking the strange-looking mech to the ground.

“Traitorous Decepticon,” he roared. “Filthy Purple Mask!”

The amber face plate was inscrutable – unreadable. “Calm down, hot dog,” the stranger chuckled. A Force Chip darted in and out of his arm as the purple Decepticon brand changed to the brilliant crimson of the Autobot insignia. “See? Good as gold. We’re all on the same side, everyone’s happy.”

Snarl climbed down and off of him, but remained alert. “It is a question I’ve asked many times today,” he said evenly. “What manner of creature are you?”

“A free one,” the newcomer said, brushing dust his obsidian armour. Snarl blanched, a sudden pain shooting through his Spark.

“Apologies for the confusion, pup. You must not have heard of me, which is a little unusual – my reputation tends to precede me. The name’s Sideways. I’m no more a Decepticon than I am an Autobot… I’m a free agent. Well, freelance access broker.”

The wolf pawed at the ground nervously. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Autobots and Decepticons… they are of different ideological worlds. How can any mech stand with one foot in each camp?” The conversation was hitting too close to home.

“Didn’t listen, did you?” Sideways tutted, waggling a finger. “ _Access broker,_ Snoopy. I work for Energon and, well, for more access. Translated, that means you’ve got to share info with me before I fill in the gaps in your data tracks. Savvy?”

Snarl ground his teeth, totally unsettled. A hunter relied on expressions and body language to read his prey. True to his word, Sideways gave nothing away for free. His view screen face gave no hint as to his emotions and his chassis was eerily still.

“Very well,” he spat, hackles rising and falling with agitation. “Your words betray your knowledge of Flame Convoy, so I shall not seek to placate you with tales of him.”

“Wise choice,” Sideways nodded.

“I would assume from your… designation… you have come to defeat Flame Convoy in order to obtain remuneration, rather than for glory. Disgusting. What _would_ interest you is word of others seeking to topple the so-called deity – Repugnus and Apelinq, of now-perverted Animatros.”

“You _do_ talk oddly, don’t you?” Sideways said, his mirth evident. “For a race of savage carnivores, your people are flowery with language.”

“You would mock me, little mech?”

“I’ll do whatever I like, poochie. You might remember, a second ago, I told you I’m free… and that’s the definition to a ‘t’.” Sideways cocked his head to one side. “Because I’m a fair dealer, you can know I’m free because of my wonderfully unique Spark.” He tapped his chest. “This ball of energy is 100 per cent balanced between creation and entropy… between Primus and Unicron… leaving me free of the impulses that drive every other member of our race.” His whispered like a conspirator. “Just between you and me? That information came from the Autobots’ own records so, in future, you might want to do your homework before you try to make deals. On account of just having been stiffed.”

Before Snarl could respond, Sideways jumped up and transformed. “That little titbit of yours was helpful, though. These two from Animatros sound like my employers.” He rose into the air and turned toward the cavernous stadium. “Time to scoop up what’s left of the dragon and collect my fee.”

“Not without me,” Snarl barked, snagging the still-dangling cable and holding on tight. “I will see the colour flow from Flame Convoy’s chassis before the moon rises.”

“Suit yourself, Scooby,” the alien craft laughed. “Just don’t expect any of the bounty, seeing as you did nothing to help.”

Snarl glared at him.

“Right, you dropped him through the dome,” Sideways sighed. “Ten per cent, then. But I tell you, this is no way to run a business.”

\-----

“Run that last part by me again.”

Apelinq had persisted and, despite his better judgment ( _fear terror shame embarrassment doubt failure_ ), Magnus had agreed to help in the battle.

Tactically.

He’d hang back and advise Snarl and the others, re-working their strategy as needed. Improvising, just like he did best. But far, far away from the enemy ( _talons and teeth and flame and spine-breaking strength_ ). In order to do that, he had to know everything. But some parts of “everything” made no sense at all.

“We followed Flame Convoy through the tunnel of stars, seeking him on every planet we came across,” Apelinq repeated. “Finally, we caught up to him here.”

Magnus nodded. “You time-travelled for this,” He said firmly. “It all makes sense. I’d thought, for a moment, Animatros had experienced the same temporal distortions as did Speedia. But Speedia’s problems were unrelated to the Red Key. All of which means, Apelinq, you and Repugnus have travelled into your past – our present – to hunt. Your tunnel of stars is a wormhole, a rift in the space-time continuum.”

The simian nodded thoughtfully. “And in this time, Animatros is but a dead world – save for the Flame Convoy and Scorponok of this era. This explains Fang Wolf’s confusion. It may also offer a solution to our present difficulties.”

He touched his hand to the Translink Interface. Energy wreathed around the digits, coalescing into a thick armoured glove. A large spike rose from each knuckle, while wires and dials dominated the wrist area.

“Though I am technorganic, I possess some sensors akin to yours,” Apelinq explained. “They recorded the energy signature of the… wormhole?… as we travelled through it, for later study. From what I can tell, that radiation has fused with our bodies, tainted us.”

“Like an animal marks its territory,” Junko added.

Apelinq bowed. “The metaphor is apt. We are branded, as beings out of time, by that invasive wavelength. Were I to cancel it out – remove the energy signature from our bodies – we would, in theory, fall out of time and materialise back in our own era.”

“But not on Animatros,” Junko interrupted, warming to the topic. “On Earth, this world, whatever it looks like in your own time.” She paused. “With our record of environmental protection, you could be landing in a toxic wasteland.”

“Or a glistening utopia,” Franklin said hopefully.

Apelinq’s brow furrowed. “Either way, this is an action we must take,” he said solemnly. “For now I have discerned the true consequence of Flame Convoy’s presence.”

“Temporal anomaly,” Junko muttered.

Magnus shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

“Flame Convoy and Scorponok came from the future,” Junko began. “But both of them, in some form or another, already exist in this era. The danger with having two versions of a person in the one era is temporal paradox. If a being meets itself, be it a past or future version, well…” She sighed. “That wormhole’s a pin-prick, right? A temporal paradox is one heck of a tear no sewing machine’s going to fix.”

Franklin smirked. “I’ll bet you speak Klingon, too.”

Magnus ignored him. “So the threat Flame Convoy presents is not limited to this world alone,” he said. “Even while standing still, he’s unravelling existence.”

“Very slowly, given the distance between his ‘selves’, but yes,” Apelinq said. “His mere existence is a pox on all that lives, be it mechanical or organic.” The mandrill looked up. “The situation is more dire than before, Ultra Magnus. I _must_ have your aid.”

“I…”

_Something vital, deep within his chassis, tore loose in a shower of sparks. Flame Convoy heaved – ripping him into two pieces._

“I’ll keep trying to contact my troops,” he said heavily, “and advise them of the situation. We’ll be ready by the time you need reinforcements. That’s… that’s all I can do.”

Junko spat on the ground. “Nothing but a broken toy,” she growled. “I’m with you, Apelinq. I provided a distraction before, I can at least do that again. And _don’t_ try to tell me to butt out, because…”

“I would not dream of it,” Apelinq smiled softly. “Thank you.”

The Interlink flared again, creating a rocket-powered surfboard. Junko sat at its tip while Apelinq gripped it, tightly, with his oversized hands. “Take care of Franklin,” he said. “We will contact you.”

Magnus watched them fly away, choking down the bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted to think a coolant link had ruptured, that the CatSCANs had missed a minor injury. But that was wishful thinking. No taste could be so odious as cowardice.

“You could catch them up,” Franklin said from behind. “Roll on out after them.”

_Flame Convoy heaved – ripping him into two pieces, emptying his life-giving machinery out onto the devastated streets of downtown._

“No I can’t,” Magnus whispered. “They’re… I’m… too far gone.”

\-----

“Then he was just gone, lost in the smoke.” Repugnus shook his head. “I’ve failed.”

Sideways slapped him on the back. “A minor setback, I’m sure,” he said, oozing false charm. “But also a timely reminder of why deposed religious icons should always dealt with by professionals such as myself. If you have a moment, we can discuss my fee before I deal with both Flame Convoy and Scorponok for you.”

Snarl’s nose wrinkled. “What on Animatros could possibly be of interest to you?”

The faceless mech seemed to smile. “Nothing that’s there at the moment. I tend to be more interested in what the future might hold.”

“It would seem, then, that we are all reaching the same conclusions.”

The voice came from overhead. With a rush of heat and a hiss of escaping air, Apelinq and the blue-haired woman landed amongst them. Snarl nodded a curt greeting to the female, which was returned in kind. _I’ve not forgotten the sting of her weapon, nor her courage,_ the wolf thought. _She is quite unlike the rest of her species. I’m glad the filthy monkey had the sense to leave that weak, broken male behind._

“Where is Ultra Magnus?” Repugnus asked. “And, what conclusion?”

Snarl listened with rising hope. _If these disgusting creatures are from a distant time, then there remains a chance,_ he thought. _The future can… must… be changed. Then I can have the freedom… the balance… Sideways enjoys._

He also listened to the news about Magnus. _I have been in that pit,_ he thought. _Surely, I would have failed to climb out, had I been in my right mind. Ironically, the lobotomy I suffered at Flame Convoy’s hands protected me from this sort of runfleehide. It is a living huntnomore… Magnus’ path shall be torturous, now._

“Back to the matter at had – remuneration,” Sideways interrupted. He was rubbing his hands together. “As stated, Repugnus, I’m more than happy to solve your little problem. Alive and chained or dead and tagged, the ugly twins are _handled._ ”

“The contract,” Repugnus snarled, “is cancelled. My allies and I shall deal with the situation, now both Flame Convoy and Scorponok have been felled.”

“Really?” Sideways asked. “Am I the only one who remembers their nasty little habit of coming back to life, more powerful than before? I’m happy to play the back-up role, you know. And I charge very reasonable rates for my services.”

“Such as?” Apelinq thundered.

“All you have to do is point,” Sideways crooned. “To the wormhole, that is. I’ll take it from there.”

There was a small clanging noise. Junko had ran across and kicked Sideways in the foot. “I’ll bet you will,” she snapped, kicking him a second time. “Your kind always does. Is it only your face that’s missing, or is your brain a blank slate, too? People’s _lives_ are at stake, bucko, and you’re trying to wrangle a deal!”

Sideways crouched down to meet her. Impressively the female didn’t flinch.

“Murashita Chinatsu,” he said coolly. “Nicknamed ‘Junko’ during her high school years because of the number of cars she wrecked.”

Her eyes widened. “How do…”

“Prominent female member of the Tokyo speed tribes before joining the police force,” he continued, savouring her discomfort. “Rebellious and questioning, a poor fit for the law of her native land. Emigrated here, landed a job in… _my service._ ”

Snarl could smell confusion wafting from her skin. “Your service?” she asked.

“Poor, blind Junko,” Sideways soothed, touching her hair with a single finger. “Who did you think your ‘boss’ was, hmm? The government? Not with that level of organization. Some corporation? Not with that sort of technology. A world-wide peace-keeping force? There’s no money in peace, Chinatsu. The fact is you are, and always have been, in my employ. You and Agent Franklin – what a worthwhile resource he is. Those reports of his you laugh at are my best way of keeping tabs on this world’s Autobots and Terrorcons.”

He looked into her eyes. “Don’t be discouraged, Chinatsu. You keep him alive, after all, and debunk his theories so the world remains relatively ignorant of the Transformer secret war. You also have your uses.”

Apelinq lashed out and grabbed Sideways’ finger. With a hoot of anger, the mandrill twisted the digit up and back. “Leave her alone,” he rumbled.

“I’ve seen this movie before, Kong,” Sideways sneered, “and let me tell you: the monkey fares poorly against the aircraft.”

Repugnus moved to separate them; Snarl joined in. Apelinq would not be swayed, however, and fought them off with an arm and a foot. Sideways, too, was eager to settle the matter – an orange aura surrounded his arm as it switched, from Autobot to Decepticon. Blades swung out, narrowly missing Snarl. Infuriated, the wolf stamped his foot down to get purchase and…

… the entire freeway shook.

The combatants froze – all save Junko, who fell to her knees.

“That was not me,” Snarl said.

The bitumen jumped again, the shockwave running the length of the overpass. It snapped like a whip, throwing them all a few metres into the air. They came down in a mess of limbs and weapons, their bodywork denting against the roadway, and were tosses again. Snarl caught sight of Junko bouncing toward the very edge of the ramp and reached out, snagging her with a claw. The momentum carried him to the gap as well.

“Damn it,” the woman said, peering over the edge. Snarl looked down.

The side of the arena had ruptured like a rancid boil. All around the makeshift exit had been burned to a crisp – trees, cars and, most disturbingly, more humans. Between the fires and the debris stood Flame Convoy, flail in hand, Scorponok by his side.

The dragon’s damaged limbs had been repaired; all his flesh had grown back. He was swinging the enormous battle hammer into the base of the freeway maze, again and again. Scorponok’s shovel-like claws gouged at the ground. Pylons exploded and support bolts rocketed away, causing already stressed tarmac to groan and wobble mournfully.

“They’re going to bring it all down,” Junko gasped, “and us with it!”


	6. Chapter 6

“Stop gawking and move your skid plates, mechs!”

The unexpected command, beamed into his very brain, whipped Snarl into action. Converting to beast mode, he leaped from the edge of the tarmac and bounded through the vibrating superstructure. He glanced through his rear scanners – Repugnus and the others were on the move; Apelinq pausing to scoop up Junko as he transformed.

“Why,” Sideways asked, “can I hear Ultra Magnus in my head?” The mercenary was a blur of distorted motion, teleporting from strut to strut in order to keep pace with his bestial comrades.

A small, holographic image of Magnus appeared over Snarl’s left optic – and no doubt the optics of all the others. “Your communication system is designed to eavesdrop on ours, Sideways,” the RID commander smirked, “making it easy to hack your bandwidth. And those tuning forks on your head make for nice transmitters, so I can give marching orders to everyone at the same time.”

“I’m being used as a radio tower?” the access broker groaned. “Great. The Autobot army’s taking advantage of me, for free! It’s just like the old days.”

“Listen up,” Magnus said, returning to matters at hand. Snarl was pleased – though his near-death had broken his mettle, the Autobot was going to honour his word and give them tactical support. “Flame Convoy’s made his first mistake. He thinks that, by decimating his little high-rise labyrinth, he’s going to take you all out. He’s wrong.

“Sideways, you’re a sneak-thief. Repugnus, Apelinq, Snarl… you’re jungle fighters, every one of you. And Flame Convoy’s built you a concrete jungle. Treat the pylons and trees and the rubble as undergrowth, and take the battle _to him!_ ”

The wolf savoured the growl building in his throat. “My pleasure,” he barked, picking up speed as he jumped from one toppling strut to another.

He called out to his former master. Flame Convoy glared, his eyes pure hatred, as he began to climb the maze. Scorponok, dutiful as always, transformed to robot mode and followed. The obsidian mech made better time than his master, moving with a grace that defied belief, and met Snarl but a quarter of the way down.

Repugnus and Sideways slipped past, making a beeline for Flame Convoy. A sabot round flashed past the wolf’s head and thudded into Scorponok – Junko and Apelinq had opted to stay behind and back him up. Nodding a terse thanks, Snarl made for his enemy’s legs. His Force Chip flashed, his teeth grew and bit savagely into the metal.

“Junko, aim for his optics… his eyes, I mean,” Magnus commanded. “Apelinq, hold the time-slip device in reserve for now. The last thing you need to do is blast these two back to your time while they’re fighting fit.”

“But…”

“Don’t question me, soldier,” Magnus said evenly. “Here, in this time period, you’ve got back-up. But in your own era, it’s down to just you and Repugnus. It’s much easier to transport prisoners than enemies.”

Apelinq grunted, allowing the chronal gauntlet to fade from his hand. It was replaced, almost instantly, by another miracle from the Translink Interface. Two long, curved swords grew in the mandrill’s hands, each with a circular pommel to protect the user from their razor-sharp edges. With a hoot and a howl, Apelinq slashed his way toward Scorponok’s midsection.

Snarl locked his jaw servos in place, utterly refusing to release the beast’s left leg. Junko, safe on Apelinq’s surfboard, kept firing. Scorponok’s crimson visor fractured and spider-webbed under the assault. The mandrill was like a thousand flying blades; his frenzy sent chips and chunks of the former Decepticon in all directions.

“Sideways, you have to distract gruesome for a few moments,” Magnus ordered. “Repugnus needs a full solar charge before he tackles Flame Convoy.”

“A pleasure,” Sideways drawled. Snarl watched, out his side scanners, as the mercenary transformed into his aerial mode. The UFO-like craft weaved easily through the net-like scaffolding, dodging not only the dragon’s fire but his flail, too. Orange light heralded the return of the internal displacement cannon.

“Foolish thug,” the fallen god hissed. Horrifically, flesh and metal was disrupted by the weapon… and then grew back instantly. No matter how many times Sideways perforated the charcoal-and-orange hide, it regenerated with a snap-and-suck noise. “Any creature can develop immunity to a toxin once they’ve suffered a dose.”

Sideways transformed again, and just in time – his arm blades somehow managed to block a dead-on swing of the flail. The force of the blow was so great, however, that he dropped to one knee. Snarl saw him reach for his double-bladed sword and…

… was thrown violently, side-to-side, by a thrashing Scorponok.

“Off of me, get off of me,” the creature roared, trying to prise Snarl loose. “The pain is coming… too long in this form… must not feel the pain, the hunger!”

Scorponok was ignoring the sabot rounds puncturing his face; he paid no mind to the wiring and armour plating being cleaved from his upper body. His sole concern, it seemed, was to free himself from Snarl’s bite so he could transform. And so the wolf bit down harder, straining past the lock on his jaw hinge, and dug his claws into the tarmac.

“I’m running out of clips,” Junko cried.

“Here,” Apelinq replied, elbowing a ball of light toward her. The up-sized sabot cannot looped around her once again, and she pulled the trigger.

Round after round of super-heated, armour-piercing ballistics perforated Scorponok. This time he noticed – his howl was so high-pitched, Snarl had to dampen his audio sensors momentarily. Despite his footholds, he was dragged forward as the beast staggered backward – showers of sparks rose from the wolf’s claws. Scorponok’s arms flailed and his tail thrashed wildly, crimson bolts leaping from its tip.

Below, Sideways buckled under the pressure. Snarl tried to think of ways to help but, as usual, one mech was a step ahead. “Boomerang,” Magnus whispered into their ears.

The mercenary nodded and hurled his double-bladed sword away. He pushed his left arm up under his right, trying to fight back against Flame Convoy’s onslaught. The dragon, sensing defeat, focused in on his prey with a hunter’s stare and snarled with pleasure.

It was precisely what Magnus had hoped for. The sword, which formed the wings of Sideways’ aerial mode, sailed through the air and rebounded off a support ramp. Perfectly aerodynamic, the weapon hurtled back and, with full force, ploughed into Flame Convoy’s back and spine. The serrated edges must have bit deep, perhaps even severed some vertebrae, because the “god” went wide-eyed and weak-kneed. Momentary respite was more than enough for Sideways – he was out from under the flail, and out of the way, well before a concentrated burst of solar energy incinerated the area.

Flat on the ground and smouldering, Flame Convoy looked up with uncomprehending eyes. Snarl, his jaw still locked, followed the gaze.

Repugnus was hovering in mid-air, out over the gap between labyrinth and stadium. He was, for the first time, airborne in robot mode – he had absorbed so much solar energy that he was able to float in both of his forms. The eye slits of his helmet-like face plate were on fire, and steam rose from the mouth grilles. All four of his hands tensed and flexed with palpable strength; his large foot claws twitched with feral anticipation.

“Light our darkest hour,” Apelinq, standing almost motionless next to Snarl, whispered.

The rightful leader of Animatros fell onto Flame Convoy like a fallen star. The force of the impact knocked out the labyrinth’s remaining support; the whole structure wobbled uneasily and tilted to one side. Precarious though it was, Repugnus seemed not to notice – every erg of his supernova attention was focused on Flame Convoy.

Less than half his foe’s size, hundreds of tonnes lighter, the lizard nonetheless more than held his own against a god-like opponent. Flesh peeled at his touch. Steel melted under his gaze. Heat mirages trailed in the wake of his blows. The ball of Repugnus’ mace glowed like a miniature sun – a true morning star - as it reigned countless blows across Flame Convoy’s face, torso and shoulders.

Finally, assailed from all sides – yet by only one mech – the dragon toppled.

The rest of the combatants were frozen to the sight. Over the communicator, Magnus fell silent. He could not see what had occurred but, with a soldier’s insight, he understood. Even Scorponok was still, his “agony” forgotten for the moment.

Repugnus lowered himself onto the ground, dropping the last few feet – his borrowed energy had been expended. The young beast machine looked tired, drained. Snarl understood, at once, why the lizard had been chosen to lead the world of Transmetal Transformers. Despite his earlier misgivings, Repugnus _was_ what Animatros needed… a ruler more warrior than hunter; more king than deity. Something new.

Cautiously, still not daring to believe he’d succeeded, Repugnus stalked across to Flame Convoy. He whirled his mace in a wide arc, ready to bring it down – de-powered or not – at a moment’s notice. The dragon was barely conscious. He coughed up clouds of soot and ash; his extra heads lolled dopily on the ground.

“I… I yield,” he gasped, sulphur dripping from his mouth. “Spare me, please.”

“You, who are without mercy, now plead for it?” Repugnus asked incredulously. “I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”

“Spare me,” Flame Convoy croaked, “oh great and powerful one. I bow to you… I go on bended knee before… my new god.”

“Repugnus,” Magnus warned, suddenly speaking up. “Don’t…”

“I am _no god,_ Flame Convoy,” Repugnus roared, leaning in close to Flame Convoy’s damaged faceplate. “I am nothing like you!”

“You are… _everything_ … like me,” the dragon coughed. “You are a warrior… a hunter… a leader who has great power. The power of life… and death… over others. And just like all leaders, Repugnus… you _enjoy_ that power.”

“No!” the younger mech exclaimed. He took a step back, faltered… and sealed his doom.

The change was instant. Black, red and orange faded, cooled, and turned to ice. Blue and silver streaks shot through Flame Convoy’s armour as he transformed in an altogether different way. The air temperature around the combatants plunged; Junko breathed out a cloud of frost and wrapped chilled arms around herself. Flame Convoy’s croaks became cackles, then deep, bitter, wintry laughter. He had assumed his earlier appearance – a creature not of fire, but of the frozen wastelands of the poles.

Twin heads snapped up with new life, opening their jaws wide. Clouds of frost and ice enveloped Repugnus, rooting him to the spot. The lizard’s colouring dulled as a crystal prison formed around him; his arms and legs seized as the cold seeped into his metallic joints and stiffened his organic muscles. Alive, yet frozen, Repugnus was defeated. He toppled to one side, landing on the road with a _crash_ … and the nightmare began.

Rumbling, shifting, groaning and shaking, the tortured maze of roadways began to collapse. The beam on which Snarl and Scorponok stood cracked in half – the wolf had to release his hold or tumble into the abyss.

“Break off the attacks and back each other up,” Magnus barked, his composure lost. “Apelinq, you’re on rescue detail – you too, Sideways! I need flyers!”

Apelinq swung on jagged pylons and splintering bitumen until he reached his surfboard, then arced down to grab Snarl. Scorponok, meanwhile, transformed through all his modes before opting for his star cruiser form. There was no sign of Sideways anywhere.

Flame Convoy – _Cryo Convoy,_ Snarl though ruefully – rose to his feet, still laughing. His extra heads writhed and danced as if celebrating the chaos around them. And perhaps they were… the demon seemed intoxicated by the thought of imminent death and was in no hurry to move from his precarious perch.

“Hold that pose, big guy,” Sideways whooped, tumbling through a hailstorm of girders and broken rivets in his robot mode. “You’ve pioneered the summer and winter looks, so it’s time to try something new for fall!”

He fired his canon, but the blasts glanced off his foe’s sub-zero armour. He drew in close and hacked with his arm blades. Small chunks of ice broke free and tumbled into the cacophony, but Flame Convoy just smiled.

“A neat trick, mercenary,” the dragon leered. “Permit me to see if it works as well with your _right arm._ ”

An arctic hand snared Sideways’ other arm and, with a single jerk, pulled it from the socket. The access broker screamed, his smooth voice cracked and perverted by agony. Still grinning, Flame Convoy brought the limb around and slammed it upside the mercenary’s head, breaking his orange face plate right down the centre. Sideways spun like a top and fell, in stasis lock, next to Repugnus.

Static flared in Snarl’s ears – Apelinq and Junko also reared back. The human pulled a small communicator from her ear and threw it to one side. The mechs switched off their internal radios. Sideways had been acting as their relay, their link to Ultra Magnus and to each other. With him out of commission, they were on their own.

“Any thoughts?” Apelinq murmured as he ducked a falling overpass.

“The time-slip device, and fast,” Junko said. “Maybe alter it somehow so you can stay but the ugly twins can get sent away. Even if they end up in an inhabited future – which I doubt – it’s better taking a risk on that than guaranteeing they wipe out everyone here.”

The mandrill sighed, then nodded. “It is the only way,” he agreed. “But I have to go, too. The device can not be calibrated for such a precise task. It either cancels out the chronal radiation in all of us, or none of us.”

He looked sorrowfully at Junko. The woman returned the look with equal pain… equal sadness. Snarl was, for a moment, confused. Then he realised what he was seeing – some sort of private mating ritual, an expression of feeling – and turned away in disgust. Desperate to escape the perversion, his optics searched for a distraction… and settled on the nearby, hovering form of Scorponok. They also found something else on a ledge – a small metal cylinder, tossed away earlier and forgotten by all… save the wolf.

“Magnus was right,” Snarl said. “It would be wrong for you to return to your own time with your enemies healthy; with your chance of success so poor. As I am not able to accompany you on the path of the warrior, it falls to me to ensure someone will stand with you and Repugnus against the tyranny I sought – and failed – to end!”

Then he was away; loping off the surfboard and darting through the tumbling, collapsing roadways. He snatched up the tube with his mouth; gritted his fangs against the painful, heavy slabs that crashed into his armour; endured numerous twists and warps to his legs as he sought purchase against the force of gravity. Finally the steel-storm parted and his target was before him. Bracing his hind legs, Snarl leaped across the chasm.

He transformed in mid-air, activating his Force Chip at the same time. Snarl landed head-first – _wolf’s_ head first – on Scorponok’s back and drove his fangs home. They tethered like pinions, even when the beast flipped and rolled and tried to shake him off.

“Listen to me, Scorponok,” the wolf howled over the din. “You live in servitude when you should be realising your newfound freedom! Look around you – this world is not Animatros! Whatever forces drive you there, causing you to change like a chimera in search of identity, do not besiege you on this world!”

Scorponok fought on, but with less vigour. He seemed to be listening.

“You seek Energon, yet it pains you as well,” the wolf soothed. “I can grant you release from your torment!” He let the cylinder roll from his right hand to his left, then held it aloft. “Flame Convoy kept you alive, in space and on this world, by feeding you Energon from this device. I give it to you, Scorponok, as a token of your emancipation. And, as I do, I also bequeath to you knowledge… the knowledge that Flame Convoy could have eased your torment _at any time!_ ”

It was, partially, a lie. If Repugnus was right, no one could help Scorponok as long as he was on Animatros. But here on Earth… or even the Earth of the future… the beast risked only starving for Energon, not being poisoned by it. The cylinder would see to that need.

With a heave and a barrel roll, Scorponok shook Snarl loose and transformed, snatching up the Energon tube. Apelinq and Junko were there, in less than a second, to catch him. The wolf didn’t mind. He knew he’d achieved his goal the moment the beast landed next to his now-erstwhile master.

“Flame Convoy,” Scorponok roared, his voice thick with dementia and anger. “What have you done to me? What have you _turned me into?_ ”

The bestial mechs were upon each other in seconds. Flame Convoy coated his former servant with ice and snow – the obsidian warrior shattered it with his constant transformations. Scorponok lashed out with his shovel hands and feet – the dragon parried them with flail, claw and talon. Tail met serpentine heads in direct combat.

“Ungrateful, stupid beast,” Flame Convoy hissed. “I gave you new life!”

“You _enslaved_ me,” Scorponok raged, his former personality reasserting itself. “I will be servant to no one, do you hear me? My hunger is my own, not your weapon!”

Snarl, perched on the tip of the surfboard, watched the unlikely confrontation. Apelinq swung around to collect the unconscious Repugnus and Sideways. The mandrill eased the surfboard up, out of the collapsing structure, and made for the top of the stadium dome.

Snarl jumped off, lugging the offline mercenary behind him. Junko looked mournfully at Apelinq before joining the white wolf in relative safety.

“I’m sorry,” the mandrill said to the human. “Knowing you, even so briefly, was my pleasure.”

“Take… take care,” Junko choked.

Behind them, quietly, Snarl retched. “Act swiftly, won’t you?” he grunted. “Time is of the essence if the future is to be assured.”

“Of course,” Apelinq said, snapping back to standing. “Fang Wolf… _Snarl_ … thank you. And thank Ultra Magnus for me, also, for the help he did provide.”

“I will.”

Pausing for one last, long look, Apelinq turned and flew away. His right hand glowed as the time-slip gauntlet slipped around it. The mandrill clung to the very tip of the board, like a surfer executing his greatest trick, and stretched his arm out in front of him. He seemed to slam into the very middle of Flame Convoy and Scorponok’s battle; coating their bodies in a coruscating inferno of yellow and black energy.

Then the last of the labyrinth fell, crushing all within and beneath it, with a thunderous death rattle. The sound echoed over the ruins of downtown and the ocean, and threatened to permanently deafen Snarl and Junko.

Minutes passed before they could hear one another speak. “Do you think it worked?” Junko asked. Her bluster, her confidence, was gone.

Snarl sniffed the air. “I am confident I would detect any trace of them within the rubble,” he said testily. His patience for her strange behaviour was at an end. “And I do not. Instead I smell… humans?”

Far below, he could see green-suited men running around the debris. More of their number rolled over the struts in tanks and all-terrain vehicles. Their colouring and their demeanour marked them as a military force of some kind – perhaps the local army platoon, or special missions force. Snarl assumed humans had such things.

“Alien life form,” one of the humans bellowed through an amplifier. “Release your hostage and come down from the stadium roof. You will surrender immediately.”

“Alien life form?” Snarl growled.

“Hostage?” Junko fumed.

“Surrender?” Sideways, barely conscious, asked weakly.

“Listen, buster,” Junko yelled down, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I’m no-one’s hostage. The three of us just kicked the crap out of the guy who _caused_ all this devastation. Where the hell were you?”

The soldier – whose olive suit bore many badges – seemed flustered. “What in the blue blazes are you talking about, civilian?” he demanded. “We’re here to effect a rescue and contain a class one situation!”

“You are late and, worse, you are ineffective,” Snarl spat. “Go away, small man.”

The soldier opened his mouth to speak, but his words were muffled by an earthquake. The tremor seemed to start from beneath the massive pile of debris, then radiate out in every direction. As the shockwaves hit the stadium, Snarl and the others were knocked from their perch. The wolf managed to grab Junko and tuck her against his mid-section; protecting her from the impact when he landed heavily on his back. Sideways crashed-landed next to them, silencing him once again.

Wracked with pain, Snarl managed to turn his head toward the rubble. He already knew what he would see, but looked anyway. Flame Convoy had burst free and stood over them all, his face a mask of pure insanity. His body was a miasma of colouring – patches of silver and blue surrounded swathes of black and orange. The “god” was stuck somewhere between his two sets of powers – one of his extra heads was glacier-cold, the other glowed like hot coals.

“The mutation,” Junko moaned. “His time in space. It gave him new powers to swap between… and cancelled out the chronal radiation. He was immune to Apelinq’s device!”

Flame Convoy roared, knocking soldiers off their feet and overturning tanks. He transformed to beast mode – it, too, was mottled by hot and cold – and stormed toward the overwhelmed, terrified men. His crystalline tail swept vehicles in all directions; sulphur and shards from his extra heads slaughtered others.

Before Snarl could move to help, two jagged chunks of ice leaped from the dragon’s main mouth and pierced his feet, rooting him to the spot.

“You can not deter me, Fang Wolf,” Flame Convoy bellowed. “Repugnus could not best me … Scorponok, the fool, could not give me pause! No one can stop me!”

The beast turned his attention to the lead soldier’s tank. The bombastic, demanding human shrank back in his turret, unable to do anything but watch a thermite reaction build. A massive fireball spewed from Flame Convoy’s throat and hurtled toward the terrified soldier… only to be intercepted by a diving white-and-blue figure.

The fireball splashed against the thick, burnished armour and dissipated, leaving naught but a heat mirage. Snarl was glad it faded quickly, if only to guarantee the sight before him was no illusion. Crouched there, weapon in hand and resolute look on his face plate, was a soldier born.

“I can,” Ultra Magnus said. “I will stop you, Flame Convoy – or die trying!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With very special thanks to Newsy891 and Stareyednight.

“I will stop you, Flame Convoy,” Ultra Magnus boomed, “or die trying!”

_And a voice inside his head whispered: You’re about to die trying._

Flame Convoy roared as rivulets of crimson and orange ran through his skin. He spewed two fireballs at the giant Autobot. Magnus charged forward and batted them away with his fists, knocking them up and away from the gathered soldiers. He picked a path through the stunned, overwhelmed humans and made for his enemy at top speed.

The three-headed dragon met him halfway, paying no heed to the humans that broke and squished beneath his feet. Their half-formed death cries were drowned out by the pounding of steel on bitumen. Magnus kept grim mental count of every lost life, of every person snuffed out by the deranged fallen god. Silently, he vowed to end the tally.

_And a voice inside his head whispered: You’re about to add your own life to the tally._

Magnus lowered his head and threw out his hands as he ran the last hundred yards. Flame Convoy paused, uncertain as to his tactics. Their first battle had been so brief, the dragon had not yet gauged Magnus’ ability to improvise on the battlefield. He was caught totally unaware when the Autobot snagged two of his hydra-like heads by the neck and drove his own steel skull into the underside of Flame Convoy’s jaw.

The beast gurgled and tried to fall back – Magnus would have none of it. Gripping the writhing necks tightly, he pulled Flame Convoy forward and rammed their heads together once more. The dragon’s central jaw buckled – two more head butts snapped it from its bony hinge and it fell, distended, to the ground. Magnus released his grip and danced back, narrowly avoiding a cascade of sulphur and liquid nitrogen that vomited from the wound.

The Autobot did not go far. He took but three steps back and pivoted, spinning in place and bringing his left foot around. It slammed, with full momentum, against each of the extra heads and knocked them goofy. Magnus regained his footing as each serpent drooped; he leaped forward and grabbed them again, ramming them face first against the roadway. The force pulled the rest of Flame Convoy down – first his belly, then his badly-wounded central head caromed off the street with a resounding thud.

His opening gambit complete, Magnus turned, transformed and drove as fast as he could away from Flame Convoy.

\-----

“He’s running?” Junko gasped.

Snarl turned as much as he could, but saw nothing. He longed to move, to stand up, but the shafts of ice through his feet had him pinned. They would not yield to his punches nor to the points of his hand/head’s fangs – he was stuck fast.

“Pray this is part of some strategy, human,” the wolf whispered. “And pray it is successful, or your world will be put to the torch.”

“Would someone mind explaining to me what the hell is going on, and who the hell all of you people… and _things_ … are?”

The general and his surviving men had regrouped. Heavily-armed tanks formed a perimeter around them, the barrels of many weapons trained at their heads. Even Sideways, catatonic as he was, merited a sniper or two.

“It’s really quite simple,” Junko barked. “Good guys,” she continued, pointing to each of them, “and bad guy,” she finished, gesturing back in the direction they’d come. “Can your feeble military mind grasp that, bucko?”

A foul look creased the general’s features. He climbed down from his tank and took off his helmet, drawing face-to-face with the agent. His thick blonde moustache clashed violently with her shock of blue hair.

“Listen to me, miss,” he said in an ice-cold voice, far too reasonably, “and listen well. I’m not prepared to take anything on face value when my men and I are thrust into the dead-centre of a bad midnight movie. You can claim all you like and spin your tall tales, but until I see proof I…”

“Proof?” Snarl boomed. “What need has a warrior for proof?” He howled as he strained against the frosted daggers – only shock prevented the troops from opening fire. “We are not your foes, human. Flame Convoy is not your foe, either – he is your _annihilator_ should you continue this meaningless prattle and…”

“I’m not taking orders from a… a metal werewolf!” the general raged. “According to our surveillance footage, you were fighting the big guy on the ground just a few hours back – so who’s side are you on, Mr Wolf?”

_A good question,_ Snarl thought. _Perhaps I have placed my wager incorrectly. Now may be an opportune time to throw my lot in with Flame Convoy once more, if only to guarantee my survival for a few more days. It is not as if the Autobots will welcome me back with open arms – but knowledge of their location may please the dragon, curry his favour somewhat. There will be punishment, yes, but perhaps not death._

“Ultra Magnus is fighting s delaying tactic,” Junko was saying as she came to the end of her explanation. “That’s all. Flame Convoy is unstoppable. We’re going to need an army… well, more of an army… to even have a chance of holding him back. We need to retreat, abandon the area and form a beach head somewhere. Far, far away.”

“Abandon the area?” the general spluttered. “Lady, beyond the battle zone there’s a couple of million people wondering what the hell’s going on in their city. There’s a cordon of soldiers waiting for my signal to move in. Past all of that there’s suburbs, farming communities, the capital on the island, other cities over the border… with the speed that thing moves, we _can’t_ evacuate quickly enough to escape it.”

Junko blanched. “They’re all going to die.”

_She is right,_ Snarl admitted. _They are all going to die… and I, foolish though it may be, shall die with them. Better for me to fall, to end my hunting forever, than to return to servitude. I have longed for freedom my entire existence, and my actions in pursuit of it… my mistakes… have brought me to this juncture. This moment of truth._

_I shall prove its equal. I shall be worthy of my fate, be it survival or extinction. Whether I can move or whether I remain trapped, I will be with these humans at the finale of this bloody spectacle. Freedom, at last, by one means or another._

\-----

Panic washed over him. He _wanted_ to stand up, to fight back – oh, how he wished he could. But his mind filled with images of drowning in molten lava, of unbreakable ice entombing him forever. It was more than he could bear.

Ultra Magnus kept driving, both listening for and trying to ignore the footfalls behind him. He wanted Flame Convoy to follow him, yes, but he also wished to Primus someone else was doing this… someone else was able to take action.

But there was no one left, was there? When Sideways went down, so too did Magnus’ link to his team. Apelinq had made the foolish decision to go against the agreed plan, activated the time gauntlet and taken himself and Repugnus out of play. All they’d succeeded in doing was pulling Scorponok along for the ride.

Magnus, suspecting Flame Convoy’s immunity, was going to counsel _controlled_ use of the gauntlet – a strike on the dragon first, just to make sure the plan was going to work. _The big problem with being a tactician,_ he reflected, _is that you can’t trust mechs to execute your plans._

“I don’t know how you came back from the Pile,” Flame Convoy boomed, the voice drawing closer with every word, “but nor do I care! Your fate is sealed, your moon has set! For this infamy, I will kill you again and again and _again!_ ”

Magnus accelerated, painfully aware it was too late. With a grunt of exertion, Flame Convoy leaped into the air and came down on his trailer. Talons gripped, shredding metal plate, as the beast shifted its weight. The air around them swirled as opposite fronts, hot and cold, collided and generated mini-tempests. Flame Convoy raised his flail high, aiming its broad, flat hammer squarely at Magnus’ windshield. It fell…

… and Magnus braked, jack-knifing to one side. His smoking wheels skidded to a halt on the very edge of the broken overloop. Inertia grabbed Flame Convoy like a greedy, ravenous monster and pulled him out into the void, then abandoned him to gravity and the ground far below.

_And a voice inside his head said: That was your last plan, genius. Now it’s over._

He transformed and peered over the edge. The voice… that nagging, taunting, doubting voice… was right. The battle was over, and he was about to lose everything. At best, he’d bought Snarl and the others precious moments of flight; perhaps even time to contact the rest of the Autobots. Maybe Scattorshot could succeed where he’d failed and bring about Evac’s dream – an alliance between humans and Transformers, all for the betterment of the Earth. That would make his inevitable death worthwhile.

Death _was_ inevitable. Flame Convoy had already killed him… his return was an aberration, a fluke of circumstance. For 10 years Magnus had thought himself invincible; an instrument of his god, a solider beyond compare. But fancy new armour and impressive new weaponry had not changed the core of his being. He’d not banished his doubts, as he’d believed – he’d not grown past them. No, he’d _ignored_ his doubts, become arrogant because of false belief in his own strength.

Magnus had come to think of himself as unassailable, untouchable, more than a match for any force in the universe. All because he had a big gun, a thick chassis and a processor full of fancy battle plans. In truth, he was still the same dumb, blind, ignorant Mini-con he’d always been.

“Daydreaming is extremely careless, Red Mask – and a fatal flaw!”

He barely had time to register the taunt before the road beneath him gave way. Flame Convoy, his flesh blue and icy, had frozen the overloop’s support struts. Then, with but one swipe of his flail, he demolished it.

Magnus fell into the demon’s upraised arms. He snatched at his rifle but it was too late – he was grabbed by his left arm and right leg, held up in the air and stretched out horizontally. Grunting, Flame Convoy braced his knees to take the weight of a being just as heavy as himself.

“You should have kept running,” the dragon hissed.

Magnus felt the first tear not in his shoulder, as he expected, but in the middle of his torso. He’d thought his arms and legs would break off first, leaving him helpless before the inevitable final onslaught. But somehow, Flame Convoy was twisting him to guarantee he would break in the middle, dying instantly. Maybe it was better that way.

_And a voice inside his head… the same voice, with a different tone… said: No!_

So he’d learned something about himself: he wasn’t perfect. Big deal! Millions of years of warfare, of failed plans, of dying troops screaming his name, had taught him that. Beneath every success Ultra Magnus had enjoyed, for every bit of esteem in which he was held, lay thousands of poor choices. That was why he doubted himself.

Something vital, deep within his chassis, tore loose in a shower of sparks.

Each of those doubts, all of those mistakes, made him the mech he was. Because unlike Grimlock, who ignored his failings… unlike Optimus, who could draw on the teachings of the Matrix… Magnus had to and did _learn from his mistakes._ He fouled up but he persevered, found another way to succeed. Improvisation was written into his very Spark.

He cried in pain.

This had been the biggest, longest mistake of his existence. He’d accused his team, the RIDs, of losing their fire and forgetting how to be Autobots. Magnus had been just as complacent, just as lazy, in relying on a reformatting rather than perfecting his mind. In trying to be a great leader of mechs, a god-given warrior, he’d stopped being himself. Everything to everyone and, so, nothing to himself.

His rifle fell to the ground with a clatter. It sounded like a death rattle.

Once upon a time he’d given into his doubts and let them cripple him. That had been bad, but ignoring them was worse. In blinding himself, he’d spent a decade without facing reality. Balance came in accepting those doubts and rationalising them away… confronting the uncomfortable parts of his psyche and _accepting_ them… being honest with himself _about_ himself, and drawing on the inner strength that bred.

_And a voice inside his head said: You’re not perfect – but you don’t have to be perfect to win this battle. If you give up, now, you don’t deserve to live!_

“Flame Convoy,” he rasped.

One name. One simple, little name. And all the fear – all the black, choking fear – became anger… fury… and _raw, naked power._

Magnus shifted his weight, turning with the pressure. Flame Convoy lost his balance only slightly – but it was enough. Magnus clamped his right hand over his foe’s face, then brought his left knee up into the back of his head. He rammed the joint into the dragon until metal rent and flesh split bloodily.

The strain on his other leg and arm vanished – Magnus kicked free and landed on his feet. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he pressed the attack. He erupted with a flurry of left-and-right blows, punching Flame Convoy until his fists ached. The dragon started to fall back and Magnus intensified his assault, throwing his full body weight into every blow. Abruptly he transformed, rammed his front fender into Flame Convoy’s legs, then reverted to robot mode and started punching again.

If Scorponok could do it, so could he.

He kept it up, using the henchman’s tactics against the master, changing from one form to another without respite. Flame Convoy finally caught wise and retaliated, his extra heads snapping into place. But Magnus was ready for them. He transformed back to robot mode and kept his wheels spinning – the wheels that now formed part of his forearms. As he resumed his frenzied punching, the wheels raked across the eyes of each serpent. The mini-beasts hissed and spat, blinded. That gave Magnus time to close his left fist around one, throttling it into unconsciousness, and silence the other with a vicious elbow jab.

“No,” Flame Convoy babbled, his composure lost. “You can’t…”

“I _have,_ ” Magnus thundered.

He gave in to arrogance again – and he paid for it. Before Magnus could let go of the serpents, Flame Convoy initiated a transformation of his own. The fallen god converted to beast mode and, despite his lack of a lower jaw, activated his primary weapon. A torrent of bitterly cold liquid nitrogen flowed over Magnus’ left leg, freezing it in place. He panicked, feelings of being entombed rising to the top of his thoughts. It left him off-balance and vulnerable as Flame Convoy battered him with his horned skull.

Twice, three times, he took the crushing blows. The fourth time, he managed to grasp the horns and wrench the dragon’s head from side-to-side. Pushing the dark thoughts away, Magnus concentrated on improvisation, on forcing his foe to make a mistake. He’d been watching the colours swirl across Flame Convoy’s mutated hide, recognising them as harbingers, knowing what was coming.

Just as the fireball erupted from the dragon’s half-ruined throat, Magnus pulled his foe’s head across. The inferno melted the ice around his leg. He shoved Flame Convoy into his newly-freed knee so hard that his snout broke off and flipped away. Plumes of smoke wreathed around them.

It was all the distraction Magnus needed.

He dropped back, grabbed his gun and summoned the Blue Planet Key from subspace. It activated, splitting the barrel and swinging it out at right angles, while the sight and the missile launcher turned 90-degrees. As the single barrel became two, slots opened in Magnus’ shoulders for Powerlinking. The gun locked into place with a loud _click_ ; the mini-gun’s chambers began to spin. He wrapped his hands around the crimson trigger guards.

Magnus spun around to face Flame Convoy. As the smoke cleared, he saw the fallen god in robot mode, struggling to stay upright. The beast’s extra heads hung limply from his shoulders; his once multi-coloured flesh was a uniform dull charcoal.

The taking of life was a last resort for an Autobot – and Magnus no longer had a choice. If Flame Convoy could not be returned to his own time then, for the sake of everyone, he had to be destroyed.

At the touch of his fingers, pure death was loosed into the air. Blue bolts of energy arced across the gap and punctured Flame Convoy’s torso. A hailstorm of bullets and flechette rounds ripped through flesh and sinew, shattering bones and pulping organs. He waited one second longer, then flipped the trigger guards horizontally. Twin missiles flew from their chambers and detonated with incredible force.

_And a voice inside his head… his own voice; the voice of his conscience… said: You lacked not power but honesty. You will only ever be as powerful as your mind allows you to be. Remember that._

Its arsenal expended, Magnus’ gun fell silent. The Blue Planet Key disengaged from the weapon and faded back into the void; the gun itself detached from Magnus’ shoulders and resumed its normal shape. Its magazines were dry, and he himself felt utterly spent. Not just physically, but emotionally… all of his reserves of strength were empty. With a loud, long sigh – part relief, part grief – he sank to his knees and bowed his head.

_I’ve been wrong about many things, these past few hours,_ Magnus thought. _But when I said this was over, I was one hundred per cent right._

A shard of ice flew from the conflagration, spearing him in the thigh. He reared back and cried out, only for a fireball to bounce off the back of his head.

Pained, Magnus caught sight of Flame Convoy… or, rather, what was left of him. The dragon was a mess of melted skin and fused metal. Bones jutted from his frame, and bolts fell from his body with every step he took. His right arm hung limp; his extra heads swam in the air but looked angry. His body was punctuated by cavernous ruptures that exposed blackened, charred organs to the air. Flame Convoy’s natural healing ability was taxed to its limit – while some flesh was reforming, some metal regeneration, the damage was too great to counteract.

The dragon staggered over on feeble legs and, with a slight roar, slammed his left fist into Magnus’ head. The Autobot keeled over and onto his back. He expected another blow but it was not forthcoming… instead, the beast just _stared._

“You,” it gasped, “are… not even worthy… of a killing stroke. Be… grateful… I have spared your… life this time. Should our… paths cross again… death will be… swift and merciless at… my hands.”

Flame Convoy started walking toward the bay. Crippled by the ice shard, weakened by exertion and injury, Magnus was unable to give chase. He could only watch as the battle-scarred, badly-damaged dragon shuffled into the water, generating scalding clouds of steam as he sank deeper, deeper… and out of sight.

“Next time we meet,” Magnus muttered, “will be the last time.”

\-----

The frozen knives, had, finally, begun to melt. Snarl wiggled his toes gently; feeling the ice give way just a little. Gritting his fangs and curling his claws, Snarl pulled both feet free. The pain was excruciating but worthwhile – it focused his mind on the task at hand. He had to find Flame Convoy, find Ultra Magnus, and do whatever he could to end the threat of the beast. _It is the only way,_ he rumbled to himself, _that I can be free of this circle of hatred._

“RID Unit Seven,” someone said, directly into his brain. “Hold your position. Unit One is en route to your location and will render assistance.”

“Magnus?” the wolf asked, incredulous. “Is that you?” Not a single human head turned – the Transformers were communicating over the inter-Autobot radio and so remained utterly silent.

“What’s left of me, yeah,” Magnus replied, and Snarl believed he heard a grimace in the words. “Flame Convoy is down but not out. He managed to get away after pulling the same stunt on me as he did you. His parting gifts have melted?”

Snarl regarded the holes in his feet. “After a fashion,” he groused.

“Good. Hold your position as ordered – and, for once, _do_ as you’re ordered,” Magnus continued. “I’ll come pick you up now. I’m finding I’m rolling better than I am walking, just now.”

“I will ensure I am ready for a high-speed pick-up. Perhaps, in beast mode, I can leap aboard your trailer as you pass and we can take our leave. Given your past tactics, there must be a way we can obscure our involvement and…”

“No.”

Snarl’s optics widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no,” Magnus repeated. “Not this time.” In the distance, Snarl could hear the revving of the car-carrier’s massive engine. “Once upon a time, I knew a Transformer who believed our race could form a strong, permanent alliance with the humans. We’ve fought our war on their world, in secret, for long enough.”

“But what you are suggesting is…”

“The truth. All of it.” His tone brooked no argument. “Look at the devastation around you, Snarl – this is what happens when _lies_ run, unchecked, for years at a time. When the truth finally comes out, as it must, many people are hurt. The havoc wrought on this city is our responsibility… our fault. We were wrong to hide, to expect to defend this world in secret.

“I’m not saying we should hold a parade, or open the base to human inspection. But the general… Junko… Franklin… they deserve to know the truth of our presence, of our war. Earth has given the Autobots succor and shelter for almost 20 years now – we owe it that much, if nothing else. And we owe it to ourselves to be honest _about_ ourselves.”

Snarl thought of Apelinq and Repugnus. How the beast machines of Animatros had spent centuries learning about “Fang Wolf the traitor”. How similar the truth was to that historical account… and yet how different it had become, only recently. Shown the new truth, those creatures – not his brethren, but his _descendants_ – had accepted Snarl’s value and his legacy.

“All right,” he growled into the communicator. “We shall do this together.”

\-----

“The situation has been explained… not to my satisfaction, I might add, but that’s apparently immaterial.”

The general was scowling. Junko was smiling. Magnus and Snarl were perplexed.

“I’ve heard from those-on-high that I’m to stop asking questions and get my men out of this area. All because Ms Murashita has told me to. Then I’m to forget what’s gone on, and keep my mouth shut.”

His scowl deepened. “Officially, I’ll do all that, and so will my men. Unofficially, I won’t be forgetting a single _goddamn thing_ I’ve seen here today… and especially none of you. I suggest you watch yourselves. Carefully.”

His tank rotated on its treads and trundled away, back toward the undamaged areas of the city. Magnus shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

“And you don’t have to,” Junko said. Nearby, a mob of her people – agents, she had called them – were working. One group had administered painkillers to Franklin and helped him into a dark-coloured van. The others had used a crane and an electromagnet to load Sideways onto a flatbed truck. The mercenary was then covered with large silver tarpaulins.

Magnus had started to object, but Snarl had deemed it unnecessary. For now, Magnus was prepared to accept the wolf’s opinion. For now. There was much to be discussed when they returned to base, including Snarl’s escape from captivity.

“Leave it to me,” Junko said, breaking the silence. “This is what we do. By tonight, all this will be put down to a rogue meteor strike. A terrible tragedy. An act of God.”

“That’s not even close to the truth,” Magnus spat.

Junko glared at him. “A robot that’s spent 10 years disguised as a truck is going to lecture _me_ about honesty?” She laughed bitterly. “Tell someone who cares, metal man.”

She stalked off, climbing into the van next to Franklin and pulling the door closed. Minutes later, the van and the crane truck pulled out, following the trail blazed by the general’s tank. Magnus and Snarl stood alone in the centre of the disaster area.

“Such a waste,” Magnus sighed.

“One that is now hidden,” Snarl added. “That is, perhaps, for the best.”

Magnus grabbed the wolf by the neck and pulled him up to face height. “That’s more than enough out of you, solider,” he growled. “Medical condition or no, you’ll be lucky if I don’t court martial you and dump you in Checkpoint’s prison for your part in this fiasco!” His optics narrowed menacingly. “You’d be best advised to consider yourself under arrest, observe your right to remain silent and _not bother me_. Got it?”

The wolf held his gaze. Then, frustratingly, he grinned. Broken, worn yellow fangs gleamed beneath tarnished white lips. A slight chuckle slipped out from between them all. Yet he nodded, keeping silent even as Magnus transformed. He said not a word as, in beast mode, he stepped inside the larger robot’s trailer and went into a rest cycle.

Magnus started his engine and rolled – slowly, painfully – back toward the rest of the world. _This is far from over,_ he thought. _I believed this new war would be fought on two fronts – Autobots and Terrorcons. Now the humans are involved… two factions, it would seem, with differing agendas concerning Transformers. Worst of all Flame Convoy is still out there, with no allegiance but his own cause; with an axe to grind against all involved._

_We’ve escaped detection once more… we can continue our secret war… but I fear the cost will be greater than any side is willing – or able – to pay._


	8. Chapter 8

“Explain…”

She’s angry.

“… right now…”

Confused by her lack of knowledge.

“… how you…”

Frustrated by her incomprehension.

“… can possibly be…”

And she _hates_ it.

“… my boss.”

Unfortunately for Murashita Chinatsu, aka Junko, I’m not too concerned about her plight. I’m far more interested in the television set into the ceiling, above my head. Tuned to one of those obnoxious 24 hour news stations, the TV is telling me all about the incident downtown. Thing is, the reporter makes no mention of giant robots.

_World leaders issuing condolences,_ the screen tells me. _Relief workers flown in from neighbouring countries. Death toll in the hundreds of thousands. Worst non-terrorism incident in recent history._

The news stations can say that because, as far as they’re concerned, this was an act of God. A natural disaster. Misfortune in the extreme, but no one’s fault.

_Scientists at a loss to explain how rogue meteor escaped detection for so long. Majority of victims likely to have been incinerated; others would have died under falling buildings and scattered debris. Full-scale investigation of satellite monitoring systems and deep-space observation telescopes already underway._

I’m impressed. For years, Junko and her fellow agents have been obscuring the Transformers from the rest of the human race. But they’ve done so out of ignorance – they didn’t believe an alien race was hiding on their roadways, either. Only agent Franklin did and he, sadly, was considered something of a crackpot. That’s the way _I’ve_ wanted it.

_Search teams and emergency crews have yet to find any survivors._

“I’m sorry for ignoring you, Junko,” I croon, turning my scanners back toward my host. “I believe you were asking me a question.”

She’s fuming, and the red of her face makes for nice contrast against the blue of her hair. I must, one of these days, ask her why she dyes her hair such an extreme colour. Not today, though. Truthfully, I’m pushing my luck as it is.

I’m strapped to the floor of a large hanger. There are bolts and rivets through my extremities, pinning me down. At full strength, I’d have a time breaking free – and right now I’m _far_ from being at full strength. My right arm is on the other side of the room – being held, in mid-air, by an inoperative crane – looking torn and ragged. Times like this, I wish I had Buzzsaw’s ability to retain control of dismembered pieces but, alas, no such luck.

This was all done while I was still off-line. I “woke up” to find myself the recipient of the Gulliver treatment. They’d left the TV on for me, which was nice, though the news gets pretty depressing if you watch it for a long time. Junko walked in about five minutes ago and I’ve been studiously ignoring her ever since.

“For the fourth time,” she growls, “tell me: why I should believe you’re the mysterious leader of this organization?”

I’m not in the most charitable of moods, if you must know.

First, I have to fight a bar full of bugs to get a new contract. Then I fly all the way here, to Earth, to find the client is one of those DIY types. My communications package gets co-opted by one of my former commanding officers; my target is just a _teensy weensy_ bit more powerful than expected; my right arm gets ripped off and I wake up in the middle of an entomologist’s wet dream.

Oh, and the target’s scarpered, the clients have left and no one’s about to reimburse my expenses. _Not_ a good day.

“Because it’s the truth,” I say lightly. “And you have to believe me because I _am_ telling the truth.” I waggle my left arm – and the Autobot symbol on it – as much as I’m able. “See? Scout’s honour, ma’am.”

Junko’s less than impressed. “Snarl and Ultra Magnus wore the same badge, and they beat the snot out of each other, right in front of me,” she replies.

Ooh. Good comeback. “Alright, then,” I say, warming to the conversation. “I’ll fill you in. After all, you’ve been a trustworthy and reliable employee for many years. Consider this a bonus. And if your reaction is poor,” I laugh, “I’ll just fire you.”

She leans back on a stack of equipment and folds her arms, waiting.

“I’ve been coming to Earth for a good long while,” I begin. “Your culture has suffered a little as a result, I have to admit. That alien crash-landing everyone talks about? Out in New Mexico?”

“You?” Junko asks.

“No – it really _was_ a weather balloon,” I chuckle. “But it’s fun to see you know your conspiracy theories.”

She bristles.

“I’ve been around much longer than that. Your industrial revolution was starting to wind down, your age of industry proper was kicking in… opportunities for a mech such as myself were plentiful. At first, my very select clientele was more than happy to deal with me – well, after they got over their initial shock. But as diseases were cured and automation improved through my finessing, they were sold.

“And it was a great arrangement. Earth got a technology upgrade; the outer regions of space got water, soil, trees, animals, the occasional human labour force sourced from the penal colonies. And I gained access to the systems of some of the data-richest, yet ecologically-unsound, civilisations in the known universe. It was a thing of beauty.”

If I had a brow, I would crease it with frustration. “At least until those jumped-up pulp novelists came along and ruined it for everyone.”

“Pulp novelists?” Junko echoes. “What, like Jules Verne and HG Wells?”

“The two biggest offenders,” I sigh. “More and more science fiction started cropping up, and my customers started asking all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Certain high-ranking members of certain armed forces were aware of _my_ existence, but not of the Transformer race itself. One giant ‘metal man’ was fine, but some were worried I was the vanguard for an invasion ‘from beyond the stars!’ or something equally silly.

“My cash cow was in danger of becoming ground beef, so I hit upon a way of making sure science fiction was never taken as science fact. Through a complex series of unwitting stooges and fake names – which became unnecessary thanks to the Internet and e-mail, I might add – I employed humans to go around and debunk ‘charlatans, fraudsters and those who would befuddle the masses with fake sorcery and the occult!’.”

I lift my head, as much as I can, and look steadily at her. “You’re part of a fine tradition that includes people like Harry Houdini,” I hiss. “But you’re one better, because you’ve _seen_ the reality at the heart of the illusion and lived to tell the tale.”

Junko is unaffected. “Nice try,” she grins, looking like a shark, “but I’m not buying. You had me back when all the fighting was going on, but I was kind of distracted then. While you’ve been out, I’ve done some research and determined that, as far as anyone here knows, our boss is a multi-millionaire oil baron called G.B. Blackrock.”

That makes me laugh out loud. “You mean the G.B. Blackrock who has bank account including…” and I rattle off a long series of numbers. “You mean the G.B. Blackrock, born in Tucson, Arizona in 1953, died 1955 in a house fire that also claimed the lives of his parents? The dead little boy who’s name I borrowed to create my Earth-based proxy? The guy on top of whose penthouse I land when I come to town?

“Face it, Chinatsu, I _am_ your boss. The power behind the throne. You’re one of thousands of agents in hundreds of identical agencies around the world. And each and every one of you is doing a bang-up job of keeping the masses in the dark about the Transformers – because you don’t believe it yourselves – and therefore keeping my business alive. So now you’re clued in, what’s say you let me up?”

Junko’s mouth turns upwards. I don’t like that smile. Nor do I like the way she reaches across the console and pull down, savagely, on a lever. But what I like least of all is the 1.21 gigawatts of electricity that courses through my systems, filling me with indescribable pain. It’s like she’s breaking all my circuits.

“You were out longer than you might think,” she growls as I pant. “More than long enough for our engineers to take a look at the ‘alien robot’. They might not have figured out how you work, just yet, but determining how to make you feel pain was simplicity itself. I helped… I like breaking machines, remember?”

She walks right up to me and starts talking right into my face plate. “You’re not bad on the bluff, Sideways, but I’m _better._ I know G.B. Blackrock isn’t real… well, not _our_ G.B. Blackrock. The paper trail you’ve created around him is too neat, when you know what you’re looking for. And, as you’ve said, I’m the only one who does.”

There’s a remote control in her hand. She presses the button – the electricity rips through me, all over again – and it’s gone when she lifts her thumb from the button. It’s not enough to kill me, but it takes me right to the edge of stasis lock every time.

“What I _didn’t_ know was the size of the agency, it’s reach, its true purpose. Thanks for filling me in on all that. You see, you’ve forgotten one simple thing. You might control the agency… but if someone controls _you,_ then the agency becomes theirs. Because you’re anonymous, anyone with your access could take your place and do whatever _she_ wanted. And that’s access you’re going to give me.” She holds the remote high, thumb over the button. “Right?”

I nod as much as I can.

“A negotiator to the end,” she breathes. “As of now, I’m taking control of the agency with your unwilling assistance. Because you’re my partner, you should be the first to know that our goals will be changing. First, we’re going to take down the rest of the Transformers – Autobot and Terrorcon alike – to make sure there’s no more ‘downtown incidents’. Never again.”

“And second?” I gasp.

“We locate and destroy Flame Convoy, then use his remains to construct a new chronal gauntlet,” she announces.

I risk a laugh. “You want to know your Monkeyman is okay.”

She looks at me. “That’s part of it,” she agrees. “But there’s more. An agent, properly outfitted, will be able to travel into the future and relay information to the rest of us. That will give my people to ability to pre-empt war, disaster, stock market crashes… any form of suffering or injustice. We’ll be the ultimate force for good.”

“Slippery slope,” I cough. “Megatron had high ideals once, too, and he’d nearly wiped out the universe before he was slagged once and for all.”

Junko leans in close. “That’s because he was a _machine,_ ” she spits. “And no machine has ever proven my match, _boss._ ”

I worry she’s going to zap me again – but she doesn’t. Instead she walks away, placing the remote back on the console, and leaves the hangar. I’m all alone except for the TV which is, of course, still tuned into the blasted news station.

You realise, of course, that I’m toast. Even if the Autobots were likely to come to my aid, they’d have no way of finding this location – I’ve made sure of that. Even if Flame Convoy wants revenge – and, granted, he will – he’s not got the resources to dig me out of this place. I’m trapped in a box of my own making, a stranger to the very people who should be working for me, and at the mercy of a woman with too much knowledge and too many causes.

No. Calm down. Panic gets you nowhere. Houdini could get out of anything and he was just your employee. Concentrate, Sideways, and you can do this. You’ve got all the time in the world, whether you like it or not, to extricate yourself from this mess.

Something on the TV catches my attention. The footage has gone all shaky, like the cameraman’s running. A building comes into grainy focus, as do teams of emergency crews. They’re digging feverishly at the base of a collapsed parking lot, using shovels and pile drivers and anything they can find. There’s no sound with the footage, but I can lip-read quite well. One fire fighter is yelling:

“There’s someone alive down there!”

And a warm glow spreads through my chassis. There’s _always_ a way out, always an escape. Both for this lucky survivor, this sole witness to the carnage wrought by Autobots and Terrorcons alike… and for me.


End file.
